The Last Five Years
by Brook N. Promise
Summary: Harry finally finds peace after the war. Severus comes and ruins it.
1. For All You've Overcome

**Warning (to prevent flames): One, this story is rated M for a reason. There will be pretty explicit man-sex. There will be swearing, violence, and blood. Furthermore, this is a pretty slow-paced story. This story is very thought out so it will not move quickly. If you don't like that, I'm warning you now, turn back. Do NOT flame me for the pace of this story. Do not tell me that it's not a Snarry because there's no Snape/Harry action in the first three chapters. Either be patient, or don't read it at all. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe, all familiar characters and plot lines belong solely to J.K. Rowling.**

**Also, all the chapter titles belong to Fun. and Jukebox the Ghost and their amazingly talented song lyricists.**

For All You've Overcome

Harry Potter had a good life. It was not perfect, nor was it a dream come true, but it was good. Perhaps, as a child, he had hoped for more, for better. But as he aged and as the weight of the world continually rested itself on his shoulders, he learned that he must accept whatever peace he was given. And he was given a small amount. He knew that it could be better, that he could be better. If he really wanted it, he could have everything. But what use was it to have it all if he did not have that which he truly desired? All he wanted was some peace, and a few people in his life to share it with. He was granted that much. It was his peace. So he took it and protected it with his life.

He had a decent job, a baker in the small Wizarding town of Godric's Hollow. It was a humble and quiet living that suited him well after the war. He had considered joining the Aurors or becoming a Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. But baking had always been a vice, and in the end, it was the least emotionally trying job he could have. He could not handle any more pain and despair, the walls in his head needed to remain standing. And, baking was easy. It was relaxing and, sure, the change of pace sometimes shocked him into post-traumatic stress, but it was better to go crazy every once and awhile than to be certifiably insane all the time. The job was nice and his customers were nice, and it was not glamorous or exciting, but Harry was okay with that. Sometimes he missed things about the war, the adrenaline and intensity, but he had his small peace. And he did not want to mess with that.

Mondays were his best days, the start of the week, hope for a new beginning. It was silly, to have so much hope, especially after all he had been through, but what did he have if he did not have hope? He hoped to put the trials of war behind him, trying to bake his sorrows into cookies and other delicious sweets. He hoped for peace of mind and a way to make people happy. But he could not bear to save lives anymore so he remained content with the smile a customer gave as he handed them their freshly baked danish. He hoped, and it was such a silly thing, but he was a silly person. And he hoped that other silly people would also hope for silly things. Because being silly and hopeful was better than being angry. He was tired of being angry. So he hoped because it was silly and because, every so often, it produced results.

He had hoped for a simpler life after his tragic childhood, and he had one. He had hoped for the world to recover for the death and destruction, and it seemed to do so more and more every day. Sometimes, all one needs is enough hope. Harry liked to believe that anyway.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter!"

It was a Monday and Harry was serving his early crowd. Marcus, an elderly wizard who was very wise, but obviously going senile, greeted him with a cheer only very old age could achieve. Harry liked Marcus. He was kind and gentle and seemed to always see the better side of things. To some, he was a smiling old fool, but for Harry he was an example of what he would want to be when he got to that age, a friendly old man with a sweet tooth. Sometimes he reminded him a bit of good old...But he did not think about that anymore...

"Good morning, Marcus," Harry responded as he finished preparing the butterscotch danish before handing it to the man. "Be careful, it's hot."

The warning was the same every morning, and Marcus always smiled and nodded and blew a wheezy breath over the steamy danish in an ineffective effort to cool it down. Then he would smile and wink at Harry and walk to his table in the corner where he would eat his breakfast and drink his tea and watch Harry with a thoughtful look on his face, though Harry did not know it.

Aside from his regulars, who were usually older men and women, Harry did not have much interaction with his customers. Sure, they were all aware of who he was; The Golden Boy, The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, Defeater of Evil, and so on and so forth, but the novelty of his fame had worn off over the years. His quiet and simple life left little to the imagination so the Prophet and Witch Weekly had nothing to report of the once famous man for he lived an honest life. And it was honestly boring; to the public, at least. So, as the years rolled by, Harry Potter was a name for the history books and would go down in glory, but the man himself remained quiet and simple and the public had no attention span for that. It was a good thing. But on occasion, on the anniversary of Voldemort's death and when his more extraordinary friends were flashing smiles at him from the front page of the paper, he would miss it. He would miss his old life and his friends and he would miss how extraordinary the public had made him out to be.

Though, it was not completely lonely in Godric's Hollow. Recovering from the death of her parents and intent on becoming an author, Hermione Granger had joined Harry in his bakery, becoming his first and only employee. She could have pursued any career, become anything, but after the war and after the loss of her parents, she could not imagine doing something extraordinary. So, when Harry offered her the humble and quiet life, she took the opportunity. The two lived quietly together in their loft above the bakery. They lived as friends, though Witch Weekly had done a "scandalous" piece on their living arrangements. It had been the first Potter related story in four months, and had garnered much attention. But, when Harry came out of the closet, the rumour died and with it, Harry Potter's tabloid fame.

It had not been hard after the war, for Harry Potter to admit that he liked men. The curve of a woman's body, the softness of her skin, the supple lips and dainty hands had never held any appeal for him. He liked the chiseled hard chest of men, the wiry muscles and the scratch of stubble against his skin. He preferred rough and worn lips, sharp angles and rugged muscles. He preferred men, it was as simple as that. Or, at least, it should have been. It was simple to Harry for Harry was a simple person, perhaps even a bit naive. And, though he had matured over the years, he did not always understand everything. So when Ronald Weasley stopped talking to him after his coming out, Harry was at a loss. He had overestimated his best friend and underestimated the cruelty of human nature. He always had.

It had not ended well between him and Ron. The fight had been explosive, and the aftermath was a mess. It took months of bargaining and pleading and negotiation before Harry gave up. Their friendship was over. It was over; that was the hardest part for Harry to understand. How could the one person who stood by him through Voldemort and giant snakes and hordes of spiders give up on him because of something like his sexuality? It was a long while before Harry recovered from that, and when he did, Hermione was waiting for him with open arms and a promise not to ever leave Harry's side. He was touched, but also taught not to trust anyone. Trusting people only seemed to cause him trouble. He had trusted Dumbledore and the man had been lying to him for years (though Harry had forgiven him, it still did not ease the sting). He had trusted Moody-who-was-really-Barty-Crouch-Jr. and was almost killed because of it. He had trusted...many people and each of them disappointed him more than the last. After Ron, he could not trust Hermione, not completely anyway. Even after three years, he still wondered if she was a step away from running back to Ron and leaving Harry in the dust.

The rest of the Weasleys had mixed reactions. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been disappointed, but only because his sexuality meant he would not marry Ginny and, consequently, not have her children. Arthur, after a tense silence, had joked about Harry dating one of the Weasley boys. Fred and George had immediately begun to flirt with Harry. At first he thought they were joking, but after awhile, he realized that the two were very serious in their attraction to him. Bill and Charlie had laughed and told Harry that they had always known. Ginny had taken the news in stride and smiled at him. Three months later she was happily dating Neville Longbottom; something that shocked everyone. And their lives went on.

After all was said and done, it was only Ron who left Harry. But, to Harry, it had felt like an entire part of himself had gone missing. He still wrote letters that he would never send to his former best friend. Sometimes they would be long and expressive, angry and accusing. Others would be short and sad, depressing apologies that held no truth because what could Harry apologize for? Yet, being who he was, he tried to blame himself. He really did. Because if it was his fault then he could say sorry and fix it. But what was his fault? His natural inclination? How could that be construed as a fault? It was Ron's fault and, somehow, that was harder to accept.

"You're thinking about Ron again," Hermione's voice interrupted Harry's brooding thoughts.

"Am not," he said defensively.

"Yes you are," she argued. "I know because you always get that sad, angry look on your face when you think about him."

Harry did not bother denying it. Instead, he changed the subject.

"You're late, morning rush is already over."

It was true, early morning was the most hectic time of day, only rivaled by lunch hour.

"Yes," she sighed loftily, "sorry about that. Remus and I got a bit caught up this morning."

"Please leave out the details." Harry joked, wiping down the front counter as the mid-morning customers began to file in.

"Oh shut it," she growled, blushing fiercely. "What about you? I haven't seen the twins around lately."

It was Harry's turn to blush.

"Would you shut up about them?"

"You're the one who went on and on about how amazing they were, how good they made you feel-"

"It was _one_ time, 'Mione."

"..."

"Okay, two times...or three...Alright, it happened quite a few times but they were...flings. And I'm done with them."

"Why? Did they do something? I swear, if they hurt you-"

"No, no, it's nothing like that, it's just... well, I might have met someone."

Harry mumbled the last two words in an embarrassed rush, almost certain Hermione would not have been able to hear.

"What?"

"I said I might've...met someone."

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"You. Met someone."

"Mmh."

Hermione smiled widely and Harry could see the arsenal of questions building up in her head.

"Excuse me," a cute redheaded customer interrupted from the other side of the counter before Hermione could get any words out. Harry thanked whatever deity was out there for helping him dodge that bullet and began to serve the few mid-morning customers. As mid-morning faded into afternoon, the lunch rush started and Harry was able to avoid Hermione's piercing gaze as he distracted himself with serving his many customers.

But soon enough it was closing time and as they ushered the last customers out the shop, Harry knew he was in for a serious interrogation.

"So what's his name?" was the first of what would be many questions Hermione asked over dinner that night.

"Jesse," Harry answered. "He's a wizard from France...well, originally from England but he moved to France when he was twelve."

"Ah, a French boy, how debonaire, Harry."

He chuckled, but when he met Hermione's eyes, there was something serious brewing in them. He knew what question was coming and he had hoped it would come much later in the conversation.

"So... are you sure about this?" she asked, holding Harry's gaze.

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You know why."

"Hermione, it's been years-"

"And the last time you tried to be in relationship since what happened with-"

"What happened then, happened, Hermione. I've spent the last five years trying to get over it. So would you be so kind as to stop bringing it up?"

There was a tense silence.

"I'm just saying, Harry," Hermione said tersely. "The last time you tried this, it didn't end well."

"I know." Harry sighed. "Trust me, I know. But I can't hide myself away because of one bad experience. And I'll be damned if I let what happened...back then determine how I live the rest of my life."

"I get that Harry, but I don't want to see you-"

"Hermione, let's just turn on the telly, eat some dessert, and go to bed, okay?"

Hermione looked affronted, but knew better than to argue.

That night as they lay side by side on their futon (because Harry had trouble sleeping alone), he sighed defeatedly. It seemed that no matter how much peace he got, there was still a past knocking at his backdoor. He closed his eyes, tightly, too tightly to be comfortable. He forced his past into the recesses of his mind, gulping back tears and a pain too heavy to tolerate. He felt Hermione grasp his hand and he let out a shaky breath. He curled into her warmth and shut his eyes. He would face everything in the morning, he told himself. That was what he always told himself.

**A/N: Chapter Title from the song I Wanna Be The One by Fun. /watch?v=APNJSP-lqmM**


	2. The Past is Past

**A/N: This one's a little short. I was going to write more but when I stopped, I realized it was a perfect place to end the chapter.**

The Past is Past

_The air outside is icy cold, probably one of the coldest nights of the year, but Harry is sweating bullets. He paces, because he cannot stand still and let his mind wander. He needs his head on his shoulders for this. He glances up at Hermione who is worrying her lip as Ron rubs her shoulders in more of an effort to keep his hands busy than to keep her relaxed. Just the three of them, as usual. The three of them against the world, as it should be._

_"Harry!" Hermione finally shouts, causing both boys to jump. "Sorry, but please stop pacing, you're making me dizzy." Harry nods shortly and sits down. It is not long before he begins to fidget and his stomach flops and he is sure he is going to pass out._

_It is ten minutes to midnight, why has it not come yet? Harry screams in his head. It should have happened weeks ago, Harry should be dead. There is nothing left, the Horcruxes are destroyed, Nagini included. Now there is one left, and it has to be destroyed. Harry has to die. And he wishes it would just happen already. He wishes that it would happen so better and stronger wizards could take down Voldemort._

_Harry runs an aggravated hand through his hair as he stands up and rushes to the window. The night is pitch black, as if all the stars in the galaxy had fallen to the ground. As if the world had ended. Harry looks, trying to find any sign of a Death Eater on the horizon. But it remains dark and eerily silent. And he hears this voice in his head, a voice that he should not be hearing right now. _

_"Do not be so eager to die, little one," the voice says, and Harry knows it is his subconscious but it still soothes him. "Foolish as you may be, you know that you must wait. Gryffindor courage be damned." He relaxes very slightly. Because the words are not all his imagination; some of them are memories._

_"Do not be so eager to die, little one." Little one. It is a nickname that was rarely ever used. It is usually, "idiot" or "foolish boy" but on the rare occasions where some compassion was demanded, he used "little one." Harry did not understand it at first. But he supposes he does now. It was a small reminder that Harry is a young man, one person, small; that he should not feel as if the world was solely resting on his shoulders; that there were people out there that were bigger and stronger and willing to protect him should he need it; that he did not have to fight alone. Harry likes the nickname, he truly does. He likes the unusual sentimentality behind it. But it is the man who gave it to him that he is more concerned with._

_"He'll be fine, Harry," Hermione soothes. Harry shoots her a sidelong glance. She does not understand half of what is bothering Harry, but he is appreciative all the same._

_Then, there is a loud screech, piercing the silence of the night. It is a scream of agony and Harry's insides turn icy. Part of him is filled with cold dread, but the other part of him melts in relief. This is it. It is starting._

Harry opened his eyes, because he was not really sleeping. He was caught up in his memories again. He sighed heftily. It still felt so real sometimes, as it were still happening, as if he was still fighting a war. He shook his head, he knew that it was not true. The war was over, it had been for a long time. But, every once and awhile, he would drift. It was so easy sometimes; to slip back into his memories. He would be yanked back to training and running and screaming and killing and one tempered voice that would-

But he was not supposed to_ think_ about that anymore. He pushed himself off the futon. It was too early to do anything, really. He almost woke Hermione, but decided against it. Just because he was unable to catch some decent hours of sleep did not mean he had to deprive her of some. He, instead, spent the hours listening to music, humming along and doing menial household chores that did not get done the night before. He did not allow himself to think anymore, putting all his focus on scrubbing the dishes and wiping the counter tops. Every once and awhile, he would glance at the clock, watching as the time ticked by. Once Hermione was up, once the day was started, there would be more things to do and less time to think. But every minute seemed to pass with agonizing slowness. He threw himself into the, rather, simple tasks of cleaning the kitchen. After many painful minutes, he looked at the time, conceding it was a decent hour to start breakfast. This part was easier, cooking was his passion, he could truly lose himself in it.

Soon after he started cooking the bacon, Hermione slumped into the kitchen, grabbing hungrily at the plate of waffles Harry handed her.

"Morning love." She yawned sleepily.

"Morning," he responded, smiling at her sleep-rumpled form. He did not care how bent he was, he still thought that his best friend was adorable in the mornings.

She rubbed her face tiredly, then took a moment to examine her friend. The bloodshot quality of his eyes as well as the purple bags that seemed to be forming around them answered the question she asked next.

"Did you sleep at all last night, Harry?"

He did not answer right away, engrossed in his task of flipping bacon strips. But at her persistent glare, he relented and answered her.

"A bit," he mumbled, shrugging. He had managed a few minutes of unconsciousness in the earliest hours of the morning.

"Harry, you really should go to a Mind Healer about your insomnia, you can't keep on like this."

_Watch me_, was Harry's unspoken reply. But Hermione seemed to read his mind, because she clenched her jaw, the tension in the air rose and he could tell she was preparing for a loud argument. But, not wanting to fight with her at such an early hour, he simply shrugged one shoulder and changed the subject.

"You promised to open today." Harry reminded her. "I told Jesse that we could spend the first half of the day together and since you bailed yesterday morning..." He trailed off, raising an expectant eyebrow.

"Way to guilt trip, Harry," she snorted. Harry gave her a playful glare, but untensed inside. She was dropping the subject once again, and he was grateful for that.

"Christ, Harry, you make the best waffles," she moaned happily, taking another bite of her already half-eaten breakfast. She was trying to ease the tension in the room, but she gave him a look that clearly said, "I'm dropping this for now because I love you, but don't think you're getting out of this conversation."

Part of him wanted to hash it out right then and there, to have a fantastic fight that would result in him spending more than a few nights on the couch. But the wiser part of his mind told him to drop it, for now, just like Hermione had. They would come back to it, they always did.

"Thank you," he chirped, instead, letting the tenseness in his shoulders evaporate completely.

"I'm serious, Harry," she said, her own shoulders relaxing. "I swear if you weren't bent like a rainbow and I wasn't madly in love with Remus, I'd marry you in a heartbeat." He laughed, serving up his own waffles before sitting across from her at the island counter.

"If you're trying to use flattery to get out of actually_ being on time to work_ today, it's not going to work," Harry joked. She snickered, but did not respond as she took another large bite of waffle.

"So, you're going to see Jesse?" Hermione asked casually as they made their way down to the bakery after breakfast. Harry tensed at the question, afraid of breaching the subject he had so carefully avoided the night before.

"Yeah," he answered tightly. "We've just started dating. I want to spend some time with him, you know?"

Hermione nodded at his answer, obviously warned by the tone of his voice to not bring up the previous night's conversation.

"When am I going to meet him?"

Harry relaxed, the tenseness passing. The subject was dropped again, for the moment anyway.

"When we're a bit more serious," he replied, helping Hermione set up for the breakfast rush.

The conversation was ended as ovens were turned on and pastries were baked. By the time customers began to arrive, they were open and ready. Harry was able to help with the first wave of customers, but had to leave by the second. He gave Hermione a quick kiss on the cheek, thanked her a thousand times over, and rushed out the door.

When he arrived at the apparition point, he took a deep breath. It was only his third date with Jesse and he was still a bit nervous around the other man. Things had been going well so far, but Harry had a lot of emotional baggage and the third date was typically the date where sensitive subjects were brought up. He did not know if he was ready. But he liked Jesse, and definitely wanted to give him a shot. He shut his eyes, breathing deeply. He gathered up every last bit of Gryffindor courage he had and apparated away.

**A/N: Chapter Title song: Mistletoe by Jukebox the Ghost /watch?v=CxNvqgxpO74**


	3. You Were Quite the Love Interest

You Were Quite the Love Interest

When Harry opened his eyes, he saw Jesse standing about a mile away from him in front of the coffee house that they had agreed to meet at. He looked so young and fresh and so...innocent that Harry almost turned away. What could he give this kid? He was worn and jaded and...helplessly attracted to the younger man. He shrugged his shoulders and walked toward the coffee house. When Jesse caught sight of him, a bright smile lit up his face. It was like Hogwarts all over again, Harry suddenly felt timid and shy and ridiculously insecure about himself. His hands began to sweat and he was tempted to look at the ground. But, he refrained and looked Jesse right in the eye as he approached. The younger man blushed under the gaze and Harry smiled softly.

"You look dashing." he whispered tenderly when he reached the coffee house, relishing in the younger man's beaming smile.

"I'm nothing compared to you." was the timid reply.

"Oh shut it," Harry scoffed. "you're beautiful."

Jesse made to reply and Harry, sure it was going to be an objection, silenced him with a kiss. It was soft and sweet and when he pulled away, Jesse was smiling beatifically. Harry felt the insecurity come back. He was damaged goods; war-scarred, an old man living in a young man's body. This kid...Jesse would be much better off without him. But being the older one, Harry shuttered his insecurity and with a faux confidence, led the younger man into the coffee house. For a long time, there was a comfortable silence between them as they ordered their drinks and found a table to sit at. Harry took advantage of the quiet moment to examine the younger wizard. He was effeminate, more so than Harry was at that age. His auburn hair swept into his crystalline blue eyes and his cheekbones were high and prominent. His pale skin and pink lips standing out on the soft planes of his face. He was gorgeous at 19. Harry idly wondered if that beauty would last, 19 was so young. Jesse was so young. But before he could dwell on that, Jesse broke the silence with his melodic voice.

"So, I'm a little surprised that you wanted to meet in a muggle coffee shop." Jesse's voice was quiet and shy, but loud enough for Harry to hear.

"It's easier." he said simply. "Don't want people staring at me."

Jesse looked confused for a second.

"Oh," he uttered, "I keep forgetting how famous you are."

Harry gave him a disbelieving look. Jesse blushed slightly and began to explain himself.

"It's not that I don't know who you are." he said, "I do, it's impossible to forget. But... I know you now...at least, better than I did. I know we've only been on two dates so I can't say that we know each other well. But yeah, now that I know you better, you're just Harry."

"Just, Harry...?"

At Harry's raised eyebrow, Jesse chuckled.

"Okay, I'm doing a pretty terrible job of explaining myself. Around you, it's like I become some babbling teenager."

"Technically at nineteen, you are a teenager." This earned Harry a withering glare.

"That's not my point." Jesse took a breath. "Let me try this again. I know how famous you are. I couldn't forget it and at first it was all I saw in you. I was blinded by it. But, I know you better now, and so when I think of you it's not Harry Potter: Boy-Who-Lived that comes to mind. It's you, Harry the baker. Just Harry. Does that make sense?"

But Harry did not answer because his breath had left him some minutes previous. It did make sense, and it made him want to kiss the breath out of the other man. So he did. He did not mind that they were in a public place or that he had spilled hot coffee all over the floor. He just had to kiss the younger man.

"That means more to me than you will ever know." Harry breathed as he pulled away. Jesse blushed once more and averted his gaze away from Harry's.

"I'm glad." he mumbled in response. Another silence settled over them, except this one was more awkward. Jesse fingered a hole in his jeans nervously and Harry cleared his throat multiple times to try and fill the heavy quiet.

"So, you moved to France when you were twelve?" Harry asked, trying to break through the awkwardness. Jesse cocked his head at him. He was silent for a long time as a pensive look took over his face. Harry immediately knew that he had struck a sensitive chord. He started to think of ways to redirect the conversation, but Jesse was already answering the question.

"Yeah, it was in the thick of the war, I was a second year at Hogwarts before my parents pulled me out a few months before Voldemort's attack." The casual use of the name was a giant tell of their age difference. Jesse had been so young during the war that he had never understood the taboo of the name and was still young enough after the war to be okay with saying it without any trepidation. Harry did not dwell on that fact. Much.

"They made the right decision." Harry remarked. "I wish more parents had done that. There would have been less lives lost if more families had just cut and run when things got bad. I don't mean to sound so Slytherin, but..." He trailed off, noticing that the younger wizard's eyes had dulled.

"We didn't leave as a family." Jesse said tonelessly. "They stayed. They fought." Harry tensed, he knew where this story was going. "They didn't make it."

"I'm sorry." Harry quickly amended, "I didn't mean to mock your parent's sacrifice. I was just-"

"Don't." Jesse stopped him, "You're right, too many people died that day. Too many kids. I get it."

"They all died because of me." Harry whispered. "If I had just been a little bit faster. If I had figured it all out sooner. If I hadn't waited so long to make the final strike..."

"Don't do that." Jesse snapped. "It wasn't your fault. If you had just been in the right place at the right time. If you had just been able to see what was happening before it happened. IF, blah blah blah. If seventeen different things hadn't happened in the order they did, we wouldn't be here right now. Don't play the IF game because you won't win."

Harry was shocked by the outburst. In their short time together, the younger wizard had never sounded so confident so...demanding. It was impressive.

"I'm sorry." was all Harry could say in response. He felt a bit sheepish and felt a blush rising on his cheeks. He was being foolish. "This is a date, we should be having fun, not brooding about the past."

"Yeah." Jesse agreed. So the conversation turned and they began to talk about menial things. They talked about Quidditch and music and things that did not matter. All the while, Harry could not stop himself from making the harsh realization that this man...this boy, no matter his hardships, did not live through the war. What would happen if Harry ever had a nightmare in their bed? What would happen if the walls in Harry's head came down? These kinds of questions buzzed through his head the entire day.

"Don't you have to get to work?" Jesse asked after their brunch. They had spent the first part of the day together and Harry was reluctant for it end. But part of him was relieved; the part of him that knew this relationship was never going to-

"Yeah." Harry chirped. "Wish I didn't, though." He pecked Jesse on the lips, earning him another blush.

"I bet you say that to all the boys." Jesse joked. The light in his eyes, the innocence, the playfulness made Harry's stomach churn. He stopped in the middle of the street and took a shuddering breath. Jesse stopped beside him, cocking his head to the side and scrutinizing his older lover.

"'Erm. Something the matter, Harry?" Jesse asked timidly, looking worried at Harry's sudden odd behaviour.

"Jesse." Harry huffed the name out, the pain evident in his voice. "You shouldn't be with a guy like me."

Jesse's expression went from worry to anger in a split second.

"I can decide for myself who I want to be with." he argued. And the words were so reminiscent of things Harry had once said that he had to refrain from answering harshly.

"You don't understand." Harry urged. "I've done things...I've...killed people." The admission was one he had only made to himself and he almost choked on it when he uttered it to the younger wizard.

"That's okay." Jesse said. But it was not, it was not okay. It was so far outside the realm of "okay." But Harry did not argue and he did not stop the younger man from kissing him and he did not stop himself from making another date before he apparated back to Godric's Hollow. And he felt guilty as hell because of it; because he should have stopped things with Jesse long before they started.

He wondered, as he walked into the bakery for the lunch rush, if what he felt was anything like what Sn-_he_ had felt when Harry had persisted to-

But Harry was not supposed to think about that anymore.

"How was your date?" Hermione asked as they closed down after lunch.

"It was good." Harry answered. Because it had been. But it had also been bad, so terribly and horrendously bad.

"I know I've been a bit skeptical about all this." Hermione said over dinner. "But I'm glad you're seeing someone. He sounds like a good guy."

"He is." Harry agreed. Because Jesse was a good guy. Too good of a guy. "He really is."

Before Harry fell asleep that night, he thought about Jesse. And he thought about all those things he was not supposed to think about anymore. When he finally closed his eyes, he told himself not to worry because this relationship did not have to be marred by his past. If things went well, Harry would let them and would not sabotage them with his bleak memories. After all, that was all they were, memories.

**A/N: Chapter Title song: All For Love by Jukebox the Ghost /watch?v=BL9z2M4jSfQ**

**PS: I know this story has been pretty Harry-centric, but don't worry. Snarry is coming. Be patient my lovelies. Updates should remain pretty frequent, but there is going to be a bigger gap between this chapter and chapter 4 so I can only request that you grant me some patience. :) (Also, are any of you listening to the songs I put up here? You should. They're fantastic.)**


	4. The Birds, the Boats, and Past Loves

The Birds, The Boats, and Past Loves

_**February 28th, 1998**_

Harry felt as if he should have known already. He should have known that Severus was never truly a bad guy. He should have understood that. As he sat on the astronomy tower, hiding under his invisibility cloak, he relived the night again and again in his head. He felt as if there should have been some kind of tell; some sort of sign that Severus was working on Dumbledore's orders. He sighed heftily and turned away from the night sky, facing the castle again. When he returned to Hogwarts two days previous, he had expected the school to be taken over. In a way it was, the Carrows were practicing torture and Severus was sitting in the Headmaster's chair. But when he had snuck in, when Dumbledore's portrait told him to look in the Pensieve, he found that the school had not been taken over at all. It had been protected, from a fate much worse than the Carrows.

When Severus had caught him in the Pensieve, he did not know what to expect. His thirteen year old self flinched reflexively, expecting to be yelled at. But his older, more war-haggard self stood fierce and proud, ready to talk it out like adults. In the end, Snape retreated behind the desk and offered Harry some tea. Fierce and proud won out that night.

"The last of them was destroyed last night," Harry opened. The statement did not need explaining. The diadem had been easy to locate and destroy once they had reached the Hogwarts grounds safely.

"The Dark Lord knows," Severus responded. His voice was cold and smooth, the same it always had been. But the appraising look he gave Harry did not go unnoticed. "When young Ronald made such an effort to kill the snake, he figured it out."

"You know us Gryffindors," Harry teased, "we're not particularly well-known for being subtle." The small joke somehow managed to erase some of the tension. He saw Severus' shoulders relax the slightest bit, the only sign that the man before him was not a complete stranger; Harry still knew how to read him.

"Are we going to talk about it?" Severus finally asked. Harry had to smile at the man's bluntness.

The question cut through the suspense like a knife.

"What is there to talk about?" Harry finally responded after a long moment of considering himself. "I misjudged you...and Dumbledore, for that matter. You did what you were asked to do. I would have done the same."

When the words left his mouth, Harry knew they were true. Severus did not comment on the last remark. Harry knew that the man could have insulted him, yelled at him or cried and thanked him. Somehow, neither reaction seemed likely. Severus just sat back and glared at Harry.

"Dumbledore's man, through and through," Severus whispered.

All Harry could do was nod in agreement.

"The rest of the school can't know we're here," Harry said, seriously.

"I'm surprised it took me this long to find you. The castle must not want you found," Severus commented.

"The castle?"

"It tells the Headmaster in charge whenever someone is trespassing onto the grounds. The walls are smarter than they seem, they understand the danger of what is going on. They hid you, your intentions must be very noble."

"That's what I like to tell myself. But, now that you know I'm here, can I trust you not to blow my cover?"

"You can trust me, Potter."

There was a brief pause.

"You've always been able to trust me."

Harry chewed his lip. The man was risking his life by letting Harry stay here. The man had risked his life dozens of times for Harry's sake.

Harry had to trust him.

Time passed as they talked and became reacquainted with each other. It was not light conversation and held the undertone of impending doom. But Harry had missed talking to Severus. And despite the tension of knowing the apocalypse of their world was about to come to a head, Harry found himself enjoying the time they had together.

That night, before Harry left, he looked at Severus.

"Snape...Severus." The use of his given name made Severus' head snap up. "When this is all over...things will go back to the way they were." He paused. "Okay?"

It was a long time before Severus finally responded. "Okay."

Harry smiled.

_**February 30th, 1998**_

Harry watched the sun set on the horizon. It was nerve wrecking to just stand there. But he could not do much else. The Death Eaters could strike at any moment. He was surprised that Voldemort had not discovered where Harry was. He thought it would be obvious. Hogwarts was always going to be the last battle field. It was woven into the prophecy of the war. Of Harry and Voldemort. He felt he should be worried about the lack of momentum. But something told Harry that Voldemort was going to find out soon.

"Harry." the voice was tender and soft in a way Harry had only heard a few times before.

"There is something I need to talk to you about."

He turned to Severus. In the past, there would have been a million questions. But not today. He let Severus lead him back to Dumbledore's office.

"What memories did you see?" Severus asked as they entered the office.

"Only the one," Harry answered. "The one where Dumbledore asked you to..."

Severus nodded.

"There is something I need to say..." Severus shifted, grabbing Harry's shoulders and looking him in the eyes.

"Snape...Severus. What is this about?"

"There is something I need to tell you," he murmured. "Not all the Horcruxes are destroyed."

"What?" Harry gasped. "That can't be, Hermione destroyed the diadem! Nagini was killed with the sword of Gryffindor!"

"There is one more." Severus was looking at Harry with a mix of remorse and longing. "Dumbledore told me...just a few weeks before his death."

"What did he tell you?" Harry asked, trying to remain calm.

"He..." Severus trailed off, his fingers digging into Harry's shoulders painfully, "He told me..."

Harry marvelled at the man before him. Never before had he seen Severus look so distraught. It was scaring him in a way few things could.

"Severus, what is this about?"

Severus took a breath, as if preparing himself for something highly unpleasant.

"He raised you to die, Harry." There was a slight pause after the words that Harry used to cock his head confusedly. "The prophecy, neither can live while the other survives, was not saying that either you killed him or he killed you. It was saying that while you live, Harry...the Dark Lord cannot die. Because of that scar on your forehead." Harry rubbed said scar, still not getting what Severus was saying. "That scar, when he failed to kill you, is where the Dark Lord embedded a piece of his soul."

"What?"

"It was an accident, unavoidable as it were. Dumbledore told me to tell you before the final battle. I did not expect to see you at all, I was worried. But then you showed up days before I expected you and so now I have to tell you, Potter...Harry. You have to die and Voldemort has to be the one to kill you."

"Oh." Harry did not know what to say.

He could have asked questions, he could have fought it, he could have broken down. But he did not. Because Harry had always known. Maybe not completely, or even consciously. But some part of Harry had always known, since he had heard the prophecy, that this would be the outcome. Some part of Harry's brain, of his soul, intrinsically _knew_ that he was going to die in this war. That Voldemort would kill him.

So, he just stood there with Severus' hands on his shoulders, and just stood. Because that was all he could really do.

"I don't want to die," Harry stated quietly, his voice sounding small even to his own ears.

"I know, little one." Harry felt the corners of his mouth quirk upward at the nickname and the weight on his heart lifted slightly.

There was nothing more to to be said. Harry grabbed Severus' face in his hands. Their eyes met for a moment.

An understanding passed between them.

And for the first time in too long, they kissed.

_**March 2, 1998**_

"You understand that I have to report to him now? I cannot keep this concealed. If he were to find out he would-" Severus was looking at the burning mark on his arm.

"Kill you?" Harry interrupted.

"No, a fate much worse than that," Severus said despondently, "He would have me kissed."

"By a Dementor?" Harry looked horrified. "I thought that Voldemort didn't understand fates worse than death."

"He doesn't. But he'd need me alive a little while longer to help dismantle the wards of Hogwarts."

"You wouldn't be able to do that without a soul."

"I thought we already clarified that the Dark Lord doesn't understand souls."

"Right."

"But he'll kill me eventually. He thinks I am master of the elder wand. He'll kill me."

Harry pondered this.

"No, he won't." Severus made to protest. "No, listen, go to him. Tell him that I'm here. Tell him I'm ready to fight. Then, when they get here, run as far as you can in the other direction and don't come back until I find you."

"I will do no-"

"Go."

Severus stood for a moment looking outraged and fearful all at the same time. He nodded curtly to the younger man then turned and walked away toward the gates of Hogwarts where, once outside of them, he could safely apparate. Harry waved at the man's back.

Severus would not run. Harry knew that.

Harry hated that fact.

* * *

What felt like a lifetime later, Harry stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, ready to face his death. He stopped, momentarily, as a tall figure approached him from the left.

"I thought I told you to get as far away from here as possible." Harry's voice was serious and his heart dropped, but his face was smiling. He could not help it, he loved the man.

"What? And miss all the action?" Severus stepped forward and grabbed Harry's arm which was an impressive feat as Harry was under his invisibility cloak.

"If we fight this battle, we are fighting it together."

"I never knew you were such a romantic, Severus," Harry joked.

Severus scowled at him but the miniscule upturn of his lips told Harry that Severus was just as glad to see him.

"Care to take a walk in the woods?" Harry asked conversationally.

He lifted the invisibility cloak so Severus could fit himself underneath it.

"Lead the way." Their tones were light as if Harry was not walking to his death.

But they both knew better. Harry grabbed Severus' hand and they entered the forest.

The silence was deafening, the battle behind them faded as they wove their way through the tangled trees. They stopped a short distance in and Harry took the resurrection stone out of his pocket. He squeezed Severus' hand and closed his eyes, turning the resurrection stone three times. When he opened them he was surrounded by all the people he had loved most in the world.

"Can you see them?" he whispered to Severus.

"Yes." Harry nodded, turning his head to look at the seemingly alive figures.

They did not exchange words, at first, just looked at each other. Lily caught her son's eye and smiled. Harry could have stood there forever just taking her in. She was beautiful. He glanced over to Snape, sure that the man would be gazing at his lost unrequited love. But he only had eyes for Harry. This made Harry's heart warm.

James Potter was smiling at the both of them. He did not ask about the fact that they were holding hands. Questions like that could wait until Harry was passed on to the other side. It would not be long, after all. Sirius was the only one who looked mildly displeased by the company Harry chose.

"We are so proud of you," Lily finally said, "Both of you."

Harry smiled, a warmth momentarily replacing the fear in his heart.

"Does it hurt?" Harry finally asked. He wanted to say something more substantial, but what could he say? That he was sorry? No, all he could do was prepare for worst.

"Dying?" Sirius asked. "Quicker and faster than falling asleep." He smiled warmly.

"It will be quick," Lily assured, "He wants this over just as badly as you do."

Harry looked at James, but his father had fixed his gaze on Severus. Their eyes seemed to lock in a nonverbal battle for a moment before James finally spoke.

"I forgive you," he said. Severus' eyes widened and Harry half expected some scathing retort like, "For what? I'm not sorry." But the retort never came because, Harry realized, Severus had been sorry. He had never stopped being sorry.

"Thank you," Severus whispered. James smiled, then turned his attention on his son.

"You're almost there, kid," he said seriously, "Just a little ways to go."

"You guys will stay with me?"

"Until the end," James answered.

"Won't they be able to see you?"

"We are a part of you, Harry," Sirius answered, "Invisible to everyone else."

"But...Severus-"

"He is a part of you too Harry," Lily answered, "You hold him in your heart just as much as you do with us."

Harry smiled slightly and looked at Severus who was looking back at him with an unfathomable amount of love in his black eyes. Harry took a breath.

"I'm scared," Harry whispered.

Severus nodded.

"It will be alright, little one," Severus assured softly. It was a lie. They both knew it.

Harry nodded, it would be alright. Eventually. A small part of him, everything in him that was Gryffindor, wanted to shout and kick and scream and find a way out of dying while saving the world at the same time. But then Severus called him "little one." And he was reminded that he was only one kid. He was not alone. They would win without him.

They began to walk. When they came to the edge of the clearing where Voldemort stood, Harry dropped the resurrection stone. He gave Severus one last look, one last longing and hopeful look.

"I'll see you later," he said, letting go of Severus' hand which felt like letting go of the only thing anchoring him to the world.

"Hopefully not too much later," Severus answered. He smiled, a soft and genuine smile that made Harry want to turn around and kiss him and then run off with him, far away where nothing could ever touch them. But he just smiled back.

"I thought he would come," Voldemort's voice said coldly. Harry turned his head. "I expected him to come."

Harry took a deep breath.

"It seems...I was mistaken."

Harry stepped forward, out from under the invisibility cloak with Severus, and into the clearing.

"You weren't."

* * *

_**January 2, 2004**_

"Do you ever think about the war, Harry?" Jesse asked as they strolled through the park together. Harry snapped out of his reverie.

"No, not really."

**A/N: Chapter title song: Stars by Fun. /watch?v=2Wh-Qu7nPXY**


	5. Far Cry From and Empire

**A/N: Reviews make me happy and I need them if you want me to keep writing. **

Far Cry From an Empire

Harry pulled open the doors to the bakery, sighing in relief as the magically cooled air hit his hot, sweat-slicked skin. Harry quickly closed the doors behind him before any of the blistering hot air could seep into the chilled sanctuary that was his shop. He leaned against the doors, gulping in copious amounts of cool unheated oxygen until he was nearly light headed.

"Are you on some kind of suicide mission?" Jesse asked exasperatedly as he sauntered over to his overheated boyfriend from the back of the shop. "It's one thing to run in the hypothermia-inducing cold, but this is bloody ridiculous. It's 44 fucking degrees out there! I don't care how fit and lean your body is, it's not worth dying over."

"You...think...I'm...fit and...lean?" Harry managed to gasp out, grinning as best he could while his chest contracted painfully, begging for more air.

"Don't be a cunt." Jesse growled, but the smile on his face betrayed his ire. He pecked Harry on his sweaty cheek before handing him a glass of ice-cold water. "But seriously," Jesse continued as Harry greedily gulped down the water, "it's the hottest summer in recorded history, and you're out running?"

"The hottest summer? What? It's only May!" Harry's breathing had regulated and he was able to speak again. Somewhat.

"Heat is heat." Jesse shrugged, "Speaking of May, it's been almost five months now." Harry smiled, forgetting about his aching lungs as he kissed his younger lover soundly on the lips.

"Next week right?" Harry inquired. Jesse nodded, smiled, pecked Harry's lips, then went back to work in the kitchen.

Harry straightened out from his leaning position at the door. Five months. He marveled at the number. It was the longest relationship he had ever had. It made him feel a strange warmth inside his heart. Though things with him and Jesse were a far cry from perfect. Harry could not manage a week without feeling guilty that he was stealing away the youth's...well...youth. He could not help but make comparisons between Jesse and his...past lovers. But five months was a long time, a feat to be proud. _Or guilty_. _Gut-wrenchingly guilty_. No, proud. He was a Gryffindor. He was proud.

He knew that Jesse thought their relationship was perfect. He told Harry often enough. But all it did was make Harry feel more guilty. If Harry was completely honest with himself, he was not sure how they had lasted as long as they did. He simply chose not to question it. At their two month mark, he had hired Jesse as an employee. The younger wizard needed a way to pay for college and Harry just liked having him around. It kept him from dwelling on his past too much. It was not perfect. But Harry did not think it had to be. It was happiness and it had a chance of lasting. Harry hoped it lasted. Harry should have known better. It never lasted.

"Why are you here on a Saturday?" Harry asked as he followed Jesse into the kitchen.

"Wedding cakes," Jesse answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry groaned unhappily. It was _that _season again. Harry absolutely hated spring and summer because of weddings. It was not so bad during fall and winter when they would receive a few intermittent customers, requesting wedding cakes and catering. Spring and summer, on the other hand, brought hordes of desperate and angry brides, all of whom wanted giant tiered cakes with rose petal decorations and magical frosting fountains that spit champagne into their guest's flutes.

"Bloody fucking hell," Harry sighed. Their spring had been unusually quiet on the wedding front. But summer was a different story, it seemed. From the amount of frosting tubes Harry saw on the counter, he guessed that this would be a very trying summer, indeed.

"What?" Jesse intoned, as he removed a rack of cake pans from the oven. "You don't like weddings?"

"No, I like weddings," Harry assured. "I'm just not a huge fan of wedding cakes and the domineering brides who insist they know more about these sorts of things than I do because they don't care how gay I am, I'm still just a man."

"Maybe not so fun after all," Jesse agreed, chuckling at Harry's scowl.

"What about us?" Jesse asked lightly after a quiet minute devoted to decorating.

"What about us?" Harry questioned confusedly.

"I mean, if we get married, will you make the cake or will you make someone else do it?"

All of the humor of the situation left the room. Harry froze and Jesse smacked a hand over his mouth as if wishing he could shove the words back down his throat. A cold and solid ball of guilt chilled Harry to the bone. It was like, all at once, he was realizing just what he was promising the kid by not breaking up with him. But he was _nineteen_ and he was not supposed to want those kind of things. Harry was supposed to be a phase. He was supposed to be a fling that Jesse remembered fondly when he was growing old with someone _else_.

"Harry I-" Jesse stammered.

"No," Harry interrupted. "Don't worry about it, you just caught me off guard there."

There was a long silence between them as the tension diffused itself. Harry busied himself with decorating and Jesse quietly made more batter. Slowly, the two fell into synch and the conversation was momentarily forgotten.

"But," Jesse finally asked, "I mean...do you ever...uh...do you ever think about it?"

Harry wanted to groan. He wanted to grab Jesse by the shoulders and shake him and tell him to just drop it and leave it alone and never touch it again within an inch of his life. But all he could do was stand there as he stumbled and tripped on words over and over again in his head. He tried to think about the question and how to tactfully dodge it altogether.

"Um, Harry," Jesse said softly. "Unclench. You're gonna kill that poor frosting tube."

Harry looked at the tube in his hand. He was clutching it so hard, his knuckles were white. He sighed and unclenched his hand, dropping the tube on the countertop before him.

"Listen Jes," Harry started carefully. "I'm...going to go take a shower. I'm pretty gross right now, so..." He trailed off.

Jesse looked like he wanted to stay there and argue. But he just smiled and nodded and continued on with making batter. Harry all but ran upstairs.

* * *

"So he asked if you ever thought about marriage?"

"Yup."

"And you said you had to go take a shower?"

"Mhm."

"And then you ran upstairs?"

"Yeah, that pretty much sums it all up."

Hermione gave him a critical glare. Harry had just finished recounting his story over dinner. He dipped his head and focused intently on shoveling food into his mouth at an unhealthily fast pace.

"Harry, you know you won't escape it just because you manage to get away once," Hermione said reproachfully as she took Harry's plate away from him.

"Hey, I wasn't done with that!" He protested. But Hermione was already scraping the scraps of his dinner into the trash bin.

"So why did you do it?" Hermione asked, ignoring Harry's complaints. He humphed, he was obviously not getting out of talking about this one.

"What do you mean, why did I do it? Hermione, he's a kid, he doesn't know what he wants." Hermione gave him an incredulous glare.

"What?" He asked defensively.

"Pot calling the kettle black much?"

"It's not the same thing."

"It's totally the same thing!"

"No, it's not. What happened with me was different."

"How so?"

"I was going through a war, we both were. I didn't have Jesse's innocence, I-"

"Cut the crap, Harry." Harry was immediately silenced by the venom in her voice. "If you're going to break some kid's heart at least have the balls to admit why you're doing it. And if you can't admit it to him, then at least do me the courtesy of admitting it to yourself. This isn't about misplaced nobility or guilt. No, it's much simpler than that-"

"Hermione, don't-"

"You don't want to make any commitments or tie yourself down because you still think that Sna-"

"Don't say his name!"

"-_Snape_ is going to come back and sweep you off your feet. You think-"

"Hermione stop-"

"-that he still cares about you. You think that wherever he is out there, he's just waiting until he can throw himself back into your arms and you two can-"

"Hermione!"

"-rekindle whatever it was you had during the war! You think he still loves and that there is some small chance that you two will get together again, don't you Harry?"

"No, I-"

"Don't you, Harry?"

"I don't, Herm-"

"_Don't_ you, Harry?"

"SO WHAT IF I DO?" Harry bellowed. Hermione fell silent. He was breathing harshly, gripping the table with all his strength and resisting the urge to flip it.

"So what if I do?" He said again quietly, brokenly.

"Harry you can't-"

"I know, Hermione," he snapped. He sighed, releasing his death grip on the table and putting his face in his hands. "I know."

"I'm not..." she hesitated and stepped forward, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. He tensed, but relaxed quickly, giving her the chance to speak.

"I'm not saying that you need to deal with it all at once. But you do need to let go. At some point, you're gonna need to let it all go. Until then, don't run from what you have with Jesse. He's good, what you have with him is good. Don't let the past ruin this for you. You've earned this."

Harry did not say anything, but he was comforted by her words. He nodded, removing his face from his hands, wiping fiercely at the few tears that had managed to escape down his cheeks. Hermione hugged his shoulders from behind.

"Come on," she whispered tenderly. "Let's go to bed."

"Yeah," he agreed, "just give me a second."

She nodded and walked to their room to get ready for bed. When he heard the shower running he, too, walked to the bedroom After he shucked off his day clothes, he just stood there for a moment, taking everything in like it was the first time he had ever been in the room before. He looked over at the closet where much of his Hogwarts paraphernalia was hidden away. He briefly considered reexamining the contents of that box, but the wounds it would undoubtedly reopen were still too fresh and painful; which was ridiculous because it had been _five years _since any of those memories mattered at all.

Still, he stood there and stared at the closet door as if trying to see through it, into all the memories he had so successfully repressed.

"Hey, you gonna get some sleep or just stand there all night?" Harry jumped as Hermione strode out of the bathroom.

Biting down on the inside of his cheek, he smiled a little, just so he could reassure himself that the corners of his mouth were not permanently turned downward. He turned away from the closet and ran a hand through his, already, messy hair. Sighing loftily, he plunked himself down next to Hermione. He gave her one last fleeting smile and closed his eyes, letting sleep take him,

* * *

On Monday, while Harry worked, he tried desperately to find the right words to apologize to Jesse. His work became a bit sloppy as he was so distracted with trying to read Jesse's mood that he could not focus on much else. At noon, when the first wave of brides for the busy wedding season came in, he was still at a loss for what to say.

As they neared closing time, Harry was panicking. He was so unfocused that he had to ask Hermione to take over the customers and displays as he busied himself with making coffee. He did not know how to apologize for what he had done. He frantically tried to think of ways to _show_ Jesse he was sorry instead of saying it. As he wiped down the back counters , he racked his brain for ideas. He did not even notice when the bell of his shop announced a late customer coming in. He did not hear Hermione's small gasp and did not feel the pair of eyes burning a hole into the back of his head.

"Excuse me."

Harry froze, his blood went cold, and his heart went from comfortably in chest to on the floor in a matter of seconds. He did not turn around. He could not turn around. He knew that voice, he could pinpoint that voice in a crowd of thousands.

"Excuse me," the deep voice said more insistently.

"I can help you, sir," Hermione said in a sweet voice.

Harry thanked her a thousand times over in his head as his heart found its way back to his chest. Hermione was talking to the familiar voice but Harry was far from listening.

"May I speak to the owner?" The rich voice was clear and sharp and cut through Harry's daze like glass through tender skin.

Harry had bite his tongue until it bled to keep from screaming or saying something horrifyingly embarrassing.

Hermione did not answer and he could tell that she was momentarily floored. But even as she managed to collect herself, Harry knew where this was leading. He nearly choked as all the oxygen in the known universe fled the atmosphere. It took everything in Harry not to curl in on himself and hyperventilate until someone called a MediWitch. Instantaneously, every thought he had ever had ever left him and his entire being singled in on this moment. As if everything he had done in the last five years had all been one large, intense build up to this moment when he would turn around and face everything (because if he was honest with himself, this was _every_thing) he had been running away from.

Harry could not breathe. His heart was hammering in his chest as if trying to break out of his ribs and escape. He heard Hermione trying to divert the _stranger's_ attention. Meanwhile, Harry was having some sort of out-of-body experience because he could almost _see_ the man behind him. Harry could picture, in frightening detail, the long stained fingers gliding across the stainless steel surfaces of his shop. He could imagine the slick greasy hair, falling limply around the harsh contours of a gaunt face. He could visualize the giant protruding nose pointed down at Harry in that disdainful way it always did. But Harry was still facing away, and when he came back to himself he realized that while he refused to actually turn around, he could pretend that the man who was so obviously behind him was not really there at all.

And maybe, if he was a Slytherin or a Hufflepuff, he would have. He would have stayed facing away, out of self-preservation or fear, while the man conversed casually with Hermione (it was really no surprise he did not recognize her; she had changed quite a bit since last they spoke) and waited until he heard the tinkling of bells that announced the man's departure (because he had no doubt that Hermione could get rid of him if she really wanted to.) Maybe if he was not filled with so much (_bloody-fucking stupidity_) Gryffindor courage, he would have hid until it was safe to show his face again. If he ever doubted the depths of his (_idiocy_) Gryffindor bravery, he could have discounted it all right at that moment when he was (_foolish_) bold enough to turn around.

**A/N: Chapter song title from Empire by Jukebox the Ghost /watch?v=3bwqDiP8BpA**

**Again, leave reviews if you want this story to continue. I LURVE feedback, even if you have to dish out some criticism. If you need more incentive, this story is about to get GOOD and intense so you should really convince to keep writing...**


	6. A Man With Hollowed Out Eyes

A Man With Hollowed Out Eyes

What Harry saw when he turned did not so much surprise him as it completely uprooted the very foundations of Harry's sanity. It was not that it was _un_believable, Harry simply did not believe it. For the man with the voice that sounded so much like Severus Snape definitely did not _look_ anything like Severus Snape. It was confusing. Because Harry had always thought that the man was beautiful, but now his fantasies were clashing harshly with reality and he could not quite make the two align. His stomach rolled and he was sure he was going to throw up.

"Harry?" The incredulous tone of the deep voice was completely foreign as if a stranger had gotten ahold of the deep, velvety tones and was not quite sure how to use them.

But what was more jarring was the use of his given name; as if it were normal to call Harry by his first name. It most certainly was not normal. But Harry was still so transfixed by the physical transformations the man had undergone that he paid little heed to Snape's surprise. Finally, Harry was able to make it all click. Snape had become some grotesque version of attractive. His once greasy and lank hair was clean and soft and cascaded down his shoulders. His gaunt, sharp, sallow face, was pale and full and soft-looking. His teeth had been straightened and were pearly white behind his (somehow) thicker, pinker lips. If it were any other man in any other place by any other name, Harry would have said he was beautiful. But this man was not beautiful because this was Snape and it was...a mockery of the man he had once been.

The easy grace in which the creature moved as he stepped closer to the counter and offered his hand to Harry, speaking in a tongue that Harry did not understand because that light and happy and _casual_ tone did not _belong_ to Snape, made Harry absolutely nauseous. But it got worse, it got so much worse. Because when Harry was finally able to bring himself to look at the creature's face, he was _smiling_. And it was not one of those small ghost smiles that Harry had once counted as a blessing, but it was a full on_ fucking smile_. The kind of smile that normal people wore. The kind that was absolutely ordinary to see on almost _everybody's_ face and since when had Snape counted himself among everybody? He was most certainly not everybody...at least he had not been.

"You own this establishment?" Snape asked kindly. And Harry found some sick sort of comfort in the word "establishment" because it was such a _Severus_ word.

"Yeah," Harry answered and his voice was so calm and collected and he knew that his eyes projected the same kind of bored apathy that his voice did and he was eternally grateful for his Occlumency lessons. "I bought it about five years ago."

If Snape put together the numbers and the dates and the timing, he did not say it. He merely nodded and flashed one of those hideously beautiful _smiles_ at Harry again as if it was the most normal thing in the world. The conversation escaped Harry and all he knew was that his lips were moving and he was saying words and Snape was smiling and Harry was sure that he was going to pass out from the overload of emotions. But then he felt Jesse standing right behind him, reaching for his hand and then the world jerked back into focus and Harry felt somewhat human again. He looked back at his auburn haired boyfriend and all the cords in his mind that had come unplugged in the last several minutes, found their way back into place.

"And who is this?' Snape's honeyed voice asked, bringing Harry back from the depths of his mind for what felt like the thousandth time that night.

"Um...this is Jesse, my boyfriend," Harry answered, wrapping a loose arm around Jesse's waist.

"I see." An indecipherable look crossed Snape's face. "Nice to meet you, Jesse," Snape said pleasantly.

"You too," Jesse replied, brightly. But he was shooting Harry apprehensive looks. Harry gave the best comforting smile he was capable of at that moment, not really too sure what to do.

"So, Snape, what brings you to Godric's Hollow?" Harry asked, finally deciding that it was best to act as if he was completely unphased by Snape's arrival in his shop.

"Please, Harry," Snape said complacently, "call me Severus. I was just in town to do a little shopping."

Harry's surprise and fear had tapered off and as Snape dropped another sickly sweet_ Harry_, he was filled with a blinding, white-hot anger. What kind of fucked up game was Snape playing and why now? How could he just walk in to Harry's life again and act as if they had been friends for that last five years that Harry spent wallowing in misery? Who the fuck did he think he was?

"Well," Harry began to answer, his voice filled with barely-suppressed rage, "as_ nice_ as it is to see you again, we're just about to close up."

If Snape noticed how angry Harry was becoming, he did not show it.

"Oh, well, then I suppose I will come back tomorrow if that's alright with you?" Harry wanted to scream that it was absolutely_ not alright_ and that if Snape wanted to walk out of Harry's life again, then he should stay gone. But he just nodded and grabbed Jesse's hand, as he dropped his arm from around his waist, as if it were a life preserver and he was drowning. Jesse did not pull away from the death grip, just squeezed back and leaned into Harry a bit more.

"Great." Snape _smiled_ warmly and it took everything in Harry not to lunge across the counter and punch the man square in the jaw. He wanted to reach over and hit and kick until Snape's face became something recognizable. He wanted to tear this new and "improved" Snape to shreds and replace him with the old one. The one he had fallen in love with. But he just stayed put, glaring at the counter and tightening his grip on Jesse's hand.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," were Snape's parting words and they filled Harry with the desire to prolong the rest of the night as much as possible.

After a long second, Jesse gently pulled his hand away from Harry's. Harry looked up, as if realizing Jesse was there at all for this first time all night.

"Do I want to know who that was?" Jesse asked apprehensively, stepping into Harry's arms and wrapping his arms around Harry's neck.

"Probably not," Harry responded, chuckling humorously. He rested his forehead on Jesse's and willed himself to get lost in the crystalline blue of his eyes.

"Okay," Jesse responded simply. "I won't ask about it, then. But, after that little display, I'm letting you off the hook for earlier."

Harry flushed, he had completely forgotten about apologizing to Jesse.

"Yeah, about that, I'm sorry-"

"It's okay-"

"No, it's not." Jesse made to protest but Harry shushed him. "It's not. You're...you're not a kid, Jes, and I should be taking this relationship more seriously. When you asked about marriage, I was so surprised because I didn't think someone your age should be wanting those things yet. I was wrong, you deserve to know where this relationship is going."

"Which is where?" Jessed asked, raising an eyebrow at Harry.

"I don't know, really," Harry answered. "But marriage isn't off the table, if that's what you're asking. I might not be ready now, but that doesn't mean I won't ever be."

Jesse smiled and kissed Harry softly. It slowly got more heated and they were soon stumbling up the stairs to Harry's loft. Hermione made some snide comment about changing the sheets, as they passed her in the dining room, that got ignored as they stumbled their way to the bedroom. Harry let the anger and pain from the day suffuse his body and he took Jesse hard and fast.

And none of it was Jesse's fault and Harry knew that and Jesse knew that.

But Jesse did not protest, just dragged his fingernails down Harry's back until he drew blood. He may not have understood completely, but he knew enough to understand that Harry needed this. He needed Jesse and Jesse would be damned if he was going to deny Harry that simply because the older wizard got a little rough.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jesse asked afterward as they lay there panting and sweating in the afterglow.

"Just hold me," Harry demanded, snuggling up close to the younger man.

Jesse did not answer, just held on tight, running his hands through the unruly mess of black hair and whispering words of comfort every once and awhile. Harry soaked it up, the words and the snuggling, letting the warmth wash away some of the ice that encircled his heart that night.

And if Jesse felt Harry's shoulders shake as the older man sobbed and the tears as they dripped down onto his chest, he did not say a word about it.

**Chapter Title song: Miss Templeton's 7000th Dream by Jukebox the Ghost**

**A/N: I'm sorry that this is such a lame update after you guys waited so long for it. I just got unexpectedly busy. I'll try and make the next few chapters better!**


	7. A Tiny Hole Inside My Heart

A Tiny Hole Inside My Heart

The morning came far too fast for Harry's liking. When he was woken up by Jesse's gentle nudging, his mind registered the previous day's events far too quickly and before Jesse could even say something, Harry's stomach was rolling unpleasantly. His throat was raw from crying himself to sleep and he could not meet Jesse's eyes when he sat up in bed. Harry hated looking weak and, even though he knew that Jesse would not judge him, he felt ashamed for letting himself be broken down so easily. It occurred to him that Snape had not actually done anything wrong, but he still felt so cheated and angry. He knew that the man was a bastard, he did not know why he was so surprised, but he was. It was as if Snape was reaching new levels of cruelty. But all the man had really done was show up, he did not even know that Harry owned the bakery; it was not intentional in any way.

The man had even been pleasant. He could have been cold and cruel and he could have said things to Harry that would have made him see red. But the man had been kind and...and...somehow, that was worse. If Snape had been a bastard, Harry could have fought back, could have dealt with it. But this? Harry had no idea how to deal with this. This was a game he did not know how to play; a game meant for Slytherins. Harry was not a Slytherin, no matter what the Sorting Hat said. This was unfamiliar territory. Snape was being cruel by being nice; killing him with kindness, and Harry was not, at all, sure how to respond to it.

He stood up from the bed, intending to follow Jesse to the bathroom where the younger wizard was already starting up the shower. His chest ached in a metaphysical sort of way that no amount of healing magic could cure. He rubbed a hand over his heart, as if it would somehow relieve the unbearable pressure, but it did nothing. It felt as if there was a tiny hole in his heart, where everything he had been bottling up for the past five years was leaking out slowly and painfully. He swallowed thickly and rubbed the crust from his eyes. Every muscle in his body felt tired, as if he had not used them for weeks. He ran a hand through his hair and walked to the bathroom.

Groggily, he stepped into the shower behind his younger boyfriend. Jesse immediately turned around and planted a wet kiss on Harry's lips. Harry smiled into it, the pain in his chest diminishing slightly, the corners of his mouth aching with the effort of doing anything other than frowning. He felt Jesse's own small smile against his lips. When they pulled apart, Jesse took the bar of soap in his hands and began to wash his older lover. He moved slowly and deliberately, rubbing the tension out of every painful muscle until Harry was putty in his hands. Harry let himself be doted on. With every touch of Jesse's nimble fingers, Harry felt the hole in his heart close as his mind drifted away from his troubles. He would deal with them...but later, when Jesse's fingers were not doing fantastic things to his neck and shoulders.

Usually, Harry would return the favor, but when he tried, Jesse knocked his hands away. That was okay, Harry thought, he was not entirely sure he would be of any use anyway. His body was so lax and his mind was so slow that he could barely stand, let alone take the time to praise his younger lover's body.

"Oh," Jesse gasped as he turned Harry around to wash his hair. "I did a number on your back, didn't I, love?"

The red scratches were deep where Jesse had dug his fingernails in while Harry fucked him the previous night. Little dried droplets of blood were spattered across the broad shoulders. Jesse ran a tentative hand over them, earning a hiss from Harry. He snatched his hand back immediately, but Harry reached behind and grabbed his wrist.

"'S okay," he mumbled, voice hoarse from disuse. "'I like it."

Jesse raised an eyebrow, but did not question it. So, his boyfriend had a _small_ thing for pain, so what? He put his hand back on the long scratches, pressing down slightly. Harry hissed again and everything in Jesse's mind told him to pull away. But Harry canted his hips and Jesse looked down to see Harry's flaccid penis coming to attention. This time, Jesse's eyebrows shot into his hairline and he was glad that Harry was facing away from him. He removed his hands from the strong back and reached behind him to grab the shampoo. Harry let out a small noise of protest at the loss of contact, but Jesse paid no attention to it. He glanced back down to Harry's, now fully erect, cock. He would get back to that in a minute.

He slowly washed Harry's hair, being gentle, though something told him that Harry would like it rough. He was too focused on the scratches and whether or not it should worry him that his lover had a minor pain kink. Harry had never said anything about it, but now that Jesse looked, he could see the scars that ran up and down Harry's lower back and curved around his hips. He had always dismissed them as war scars, but how many people had been aiming curses at Harry's groin? Now that he thought about it, he noticed that many of the scars looked more like knife wounds or medical slicing-hexes, they were precise and clean and healed over with tact. Jesse was no healer, but he could see the difference. The battle scars were jagged and uneven, clear against the tan skin. But then there were thinner, longer scars that were pale and almost undetectable, that blended in with Harry's skin tone.

As he rinsed Harry's hair, still being gentle, Jesse realized that many of these scars could very probably be from a past lover. If Harry liked blood...if he liked pain...Jesse shuddered. His mind ran rampant with images of Harry being tied up and cut into, a tall dark figure hovering over him. Jesse's stomach rolled.

"Jes?" Harry questioned. "You okay, love?"

"Wha?" Jesse murmured, dazed. It was then that he realized he had stepped away from Harry. "Oh, um, yeah, just tired, you know?"

The lie was blatant and Harry raised one perfect eyebrow at the younger wizard. Of course, the night before had been rough, and Harry did not doubt that Jesse was tired. But he knew a lie when it was told. He had not spent two and a half years mastering Occlumency so that a nineteen year old wizard with next to no war training could keep the truth from him.

"Come on," Harry coaxed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Jesse assured, turning off the water even though he had not washed his hair. Harry gave Jesse a scrutinizing gaze, but when the baby blues rose to challenge him, he decided to drop it.

"Alright then," Harry huffed. "Let's get ready for work."

Jesse made to follow him out, conceding that work was a good way to distract himself from this disturbing revelation of Harry's. But as he slipped on his clothes, a thought occurred to him, one to add on to the plethora of disturbing and depressing thoughts that were already crowding his brain. That _man_ was coming back to the shop today; the one that had been the cause of all Harry's suffering the night before. True, Jesse did not know who he was or what he was to Harry, but he seemed to be a catalyst. In the span of thirty minutes, the man had managed to turn the strong and willful Harry Potter into a sobbing mess. That was reason enough for Jesse to not want his older lover to see that man again.

Plus, Jesse could not help but mentally tack on, the interaction between Harry and the dark stranger had caused his older lover to become a force of nature in bed. Jesse had not minded the roughness before but, now knowing about Harry's pain (could he even call it a kink anymore?) problem, he knew that he had to keep Harry away from the dark stranger. If seeing the man caused Harry to want to put himself in physical pain, Jesse could not let Harry be around him.

"Harry!" he called after his boyfriend, whom was already half dressed.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, looking up from his mission of finding a clean shirt. "Man, we really have to do laundry," he muttered to himself, as he discarded another dirty shirt.

"We should take the day off," Jesse blurted out, and he knew his voice sounded panicky. Harry gave him another raised eyebrow and abandoned his quest of finding a shirt. He walked over to his younger lover and wrapped his arms around the smaller man's waist. Jesse leaned into the touch, calming himself. Why was he so afraid? Harry had not changed just because Jesse had discovered his little secret. He was fine, he was still Jesse's sweet and loving Harry.

"I don't know what's gotten into you today," Harry admitted, "and I know you won't tell me. But we can't just take the day off and leave Hermione running things all by herself."

"Come on, Harry," Jesse pleaded. "We could use a day off, just the two of us. When's the last time you and I went out on a proper date, huh? We've earned this."

Jesse gave Harry his best puppy-dog pout and he watched with mixed satisfaction and relief as Harry's resolve visibly broke down. The older man sighed, tucking his head into Jesse's neck. Jesse allowed himself a small smile as he knew that this battle was already won.

"I'll talk to Hermione," was all Harry said. But Jesse barely heard him as he began to plan their day in his head.

While Jesse was daydreaming about a nice beach day with his boyfriend, Harry was walking to the living room to talk to Hermione. But she was not there. Harry sighed tiredly and walked to the fireplace. He knelt down and placed a floo call to Remus Lupin's house.

"Harry?" Remus asked, looking as if he had just woken up, startled when Harry's face appeared in the fire.

"Hey Remus," Harry greeted good naturedly. "Is 'Mione here?

"Yes, shall I fetch her for you?" Remus asked. Harry nodded and Remus disappeared into the hallway.

Harry waited a beat before Hermione was being dragged out of the bedroom by an amused-looking Remus. Hermione glared at her fiancee and Harry could not blame her. It was clear she had been getting ready; a large button-down shirt hung on her small frame, clearly one of Remus'. Her bushy hair was tied up into a cacophonous bun on her head and she had a toothbrush sticking out her mouth, foamy with wet toothpaste.

"Y're a j'rk," she mumbled at Remus.

"Harry called," was Remus' casual response, but he was grinning and Harry could not help but laugh at his friends.

Hermione glanced at Harry who was snickering at the couple's antics. She rolled her eyes and marched off back to the bathroom where she was, undoubtedly spitting the toothpaste foam into the sink. She strode back into the living room, looking miffed and amused all at the same time. She shooed Remus off to the bathroom to take his shower before kneeling down in front of the fire to speak to her friend.

"Jes wants to take the day off," Harry stated.

"Tell him you can't," Hermione immediately responded, not missing a beat.

"I did but, Mione'," Harry started, biting his lip worriedly. "I don't think he wants to take the day off to...I don't know, I think it has something to do with what happened yesterday."

"With Snape?" Harry winced at the name, but nodded.

"I think," Harry sighed. "I think Jes has an issue with him or something. Last night...after everything, I kinda, you know, broke down. I think, maybe, he-he wants to do this for me, you know? Wants to give me a break or something."

"Harry, you need to face this at-"

"I know, but..." Harry trailed off. "Jes is right, isn't he? Me facing Snape today won't do anything good for any of us. Maybe it's better to just wait for all of this to...I don't know...blow over..."

"Harry," Hermione huffed. She paused, scrutinizing her friend. The broken look on his face demanded sympathy and she, as always, gave. "Okay, alright...I can get Remus to help me in the shop today...but," she bit her lip, "if...if Snape comes back after today, Harry, you know...you know you'll have to talk to him, right?"

There was a brief pause where Harry chewed his lip unsurely and Hermione fixed him with a firm gaze.

"Yeah," Harry whispered finally. "I know."

"Okay," Hermione said softly. "Enjoy your day off, then. I'll be home when you get back."

The last bit was spoken cheerfully as to lighten the mood. The elephant was still standing in the room, but Harry was able to look away from it, for now, as he smiled at Hermione and nodded and withdrew from the fireplace.

"What'd she say?" Jesse asked, coming up behind Harry.

"She'll be fine for one day," Harry responded. "She owes me for all her tardiness over the last five years."

The light and joking tone of Harry's voice lifted a weight off Jesse's shoulders and he smiled in relief. He grabbed Harry's hand and began to ask him about all things he wanted to do that day. Harry half-heartedly listened, his mind still hung up on Snape and everything else that had gotten fucked up in the last 12 to 15 hours.

But he let himself be led out the door of the bakery and through the streets of London. The entire day was spent in constant motion, Jesse never letting Harry sit still for very long. The entire time, Harry was barely there. He spoke when spoken to, he laughed and joked, but his heart was far away; in the hands of a man walking into a bakery some miles away.

* * *

Hermione looked up as the bell of the bakery chimed, announcing the arrival of a new face. She was unsurprised to see Snape standing there, looking like he owned the place. She felt anger bubble up, but remained calm. Snape did not recognize her and it was better that way. She did what Harry would have done and stood her ground, pretending for all the world as if the man in front of her was no more than a customer.

"How may I help you?"she asked sweetly, jaw clicking as she forced herself to smile.

"Oh," Snape uttered. "Is Harry not here?"

"No," Hermione answered, tightly. "I'm afraid he's out for the day."

"Pity," Snape murmured. "Well, I suppose you can help me, then?"

Hermione wanted to say no, wanted to scream it at the very top of her lungs. But she just pushed out a slow breath and nodded, her face still fixed in a too-wide smile.

"Well, it is to my understanding, that this shop is proficient with wedding cakes?" Hermione nodded again. "Good, good," Snape murmured. "I will be in need of one."

Hermione froze. Severus Snape needed a wedding cake? She ran the words several times through her head. But the more she thought them, the more unclear the meaning became. That is, until the bell above the door announced another arrival. Hermione looked to the door and if she was not frozen before, she was now.

"Severus, darling, is this the place? How adorable, these cakes are perfect. Oh, and are you the owner?"

Hermione did not answer, just stared. She stared until her eyes hurt and she had to blink because she could not believe what she was seeing.

There, in all his glory, stood Draco Malfoy.

Draco fucking Malfoy.

**A/N: Chapter Title Song: Dead by Jukebox The Ghost /watch?v=3LcU9L05aYk **


	8. The Worst is Yet to Come

**A/N: I know you all hate me for taking such a long time to update, but hopefully this will make it worth the wait. Also, reviews=more frequent updates! So...like if this chapter gets 10 reviews, then I will have a new chapter ready by Saturday, I PROMISE. but if I only get 3 or 4 reviews, I'll probably take two weeks writing the chapter because I won't know if you guys like what I'm putting out or not. The more feedback I get, the more inspired I become. 0 feedback=0 inspiration. :( So yeah, REVIEW and love me and stuff. Enjoy the chapter. **

The Worst is Yet to Come

Harry led Jesse through the crowds of people at the market. The day was coming to an end and Harry felt better and better as time progressed. Jesse had been right, all they needed was a day off. He dragged a smiling Jesse to a bench and pulled his younger lover onto his lap. The younger wizard gasped at Harry's sudden display of affection. They, by no means, hid their relationship from people. But Harry was rarely ever this affectionate, even in private. He leaned back into the embrace, closing his eyes as he took in Harry's warmth. It was still fairly hot outside, even as the sun set. But Jesse loved the feeling of Harry pressed against him and no amount of heat was going to change that.

"Someone's in a good mood," he pointed out happily, running his fingers along Harry's strong forearm.

"Of course I am," Harry said. "I've got the most beautiful man in London sitting in my lap."

Jesse laughed, throwing his head back and feeling his cheeks warm at the compliment. Harry admired the sight; the gentle curve of Jesse's neck, the pink lips stretched into a beautiful smile, and the blue eyes radiating warmth and happiness in a way that punched the breath out of Harry. What had he been so worked up about? Harry asked himself. So Snape showed up, so what? Harry had Jesse. He had beautiful, sweet, and wonderful Jesse. Snape could go jump off a cliff for all Harry cared. He had his happiness, nothing was going to get in the way of that.

Somewhere in the back of his head he heard the snide voice that said, _'Yeah, just keep lying to yourself, Potter, we both know how this is going to end.'_ But he ignored it and buried his head in Jesse's neck, feeling his own lips twitch into a grin.

"You know I love you, right?" Harry asked, pressing a soft kiss to the skin of Jesse's neck.

Jesse did not respond right away and for a horrible second, Harry thought he had spoken out of line. But then Jesse stood from his lap and turned around, bending down so he could lay an insistent kiss on Harry's lips. Harry kissed back enthusiastically, letting himself sink into the sugary softness of the rose petal lips. The sun was replaced by the moon and when Jesse pulled away from their kiss, he tugged Harry up from the bench and they began walking back to the apparition point.

"It was a good day," Jesse stated. But Harry heard the question in his voice.

"Yeah, it was," Harry agreed, grabbing Jesse's hand and interlocking their fingers together. Jesse smiled beatifically and leaned into Harry as they apparated away.

There was a silence as they made their way back to the bakery and up to the loft. The shop was long closed and Hermione was nowhere to be seen as they made their way through the apartment. Well, Harry thought, the place was still standing so nothing too bad could have happened that day. But thoughts of the business were fleeting as Jesse led him to the bedroom. They stripped each other in silence, simply enjoying the presence of each other. There were no words for this, at least, not any that they could think of.

Harry took his time as he bared each delectable portion of Jesse's pale skin. He marvelled at the smooth surface that was Jesse's body. It was so cut and trim and unbroken; without scars, not even a freckle marred the delicate membrane. He ran his fingers up and down the pale abdomen, over the planes of flat stomach to the hard bones of Jesse's hips and down to the well-toned muscles of his thighs. He was a sight to be seen. He tried to appreciate every bit of the beautiful man before him and really, with such a beautiful creature laid out, prostrate, on his bed, his breath should have been taken away. But all he felt was arousal, like every time withe Jesse. It was sweet and beautiful and satisfying, but nothing more. As always, Harry ignored it and climbed over Jesse, pressing his lips to every available patch of skin.

There was a familiar itch in his skin, the need to be taken, to be dominated and _adored_. But he would never ask Jesse of that. He ignored the itch, the desire to be controlled; to have someone take the reigns of not only the sex, but of Harry himself. Jesse could never do that, could never dominate Harry and that was good. It was good that he was with someone who did not understand the dynamics of pleasurepain. Or, so he liked to believe. It was better this way, to be with someone as soft and vanilla as Jesse.

Jesse wrapped his arms around Harry's neck, pulling his older lover out of his thoughts. Harry came around and leaned down, pressing a shallow kiss to Jesse's lips. Jesse deepened the kiss, tangling his soft tongue with Harry's, eliciting a soft sigh of approval from the other man. The slide of skin against skin was electric for Jesse, and Harry's touch left a trail of fire. He gasped as the rough hand of his older love reached down and took hold of his erect penis. His hips involuntarily lifted from the bed. He wrapped his lips around a patch of skin of Harry's neck and sucked softly, nipping the skin playfully. Harry gasped.

"Harder," Harry commanded roughly, stroking Jesse's cock with more vigor. Jesse was confused for a moment before he understood. He hesitated, but wrapped his lips around the abused patch of flesh he had just been sucking on and bit down. Harry groaned, throwing his head back to give Jesse more access. "Harder," he rasped.

Jesse hesitated again, but thoughts were being eaten alive by pleasure inside his mind so he complied and bit down harder. He did not pull away this time and continued to bite down harder and harder as Harry moaned and groaned and stroked Jesse faster and faster. Jesse did not stop until he drew blood He only had a moment to consider feeling guilty or disgusted before his orgasm hit him like a bludger. He opened his lips in a silent scream and came hard. Harry followed him, crying out. Jesse's eyes widened, he had not even touched Harry. The thought made him groan and a spark of arousal flared through him, but his dick was spent and he needed to give it time to recover.

"Jesus, Jes," Harry panted. He met Jesse's eyes and Jesse gasped. He had never seen Harry look so aroused. The green eyes were completely blown, almost entirely black, the pupils only leaving a tiny ring of iris. His lips were kiss swollen and his cheeks were flushed. The sight took Jesse's breath away.

"...bleeding," Jesse panted, pointing at the spot on Harry's neck.

"I know," Harry answered, rubbing the spot. But his smile was mischievous and it did wonderful things for Jesse's libido. His cock twitched. Harry looked down at the hardening flesh before grinning deviously.

"Good," he murmured, running his fingers up and down the oversensitized flesh causing Jesse to groan in a mixture of pleasure and pain. "I wasn't done with you, yet."

"S-Stop," Jesse gasped. "Harry, stop!" But Harry just smirked and continued to fondle Jesse until his younger lover's dick was standing at attention again. Jesse groaned, entirely sure that he did not have another orgasm in him. Harry disagreed. "Harry, I'm tired..."

"Come on, Jes," Harry whispered huskily. "I can make you feel so good. Don't you want to feel good?"

Jesse groaned because he was somewhere between being aroused and being in anguish. He nodded, reaching for Harry, but his wrists were grabbed and pinned above his head.

"Fuck me," Harry whispered. And before Jesse could comprehend the words, Harry was rearranging their position. He lifted Jesse up from the bed so that he was kneeling. He positioned himself in front of Jesse and got down on all fours, offering his ass to the younger wizard. "Hard."

"Wh-" Jesse choked. He had never topped Harry, not once. But something told Jesse that asking questions would ruin the mood. So he shuffled forward on his knees, nudging apart Harry's legs so that he could fit between them. He wanted to ask Harry how to do this, but could not find the words. Instead, he went with his gut. He leaned over Harry, pressing his chest into his lover's back. Harry sighed in pleasure at the feeling of having someone cover him.

Jesse trailed soft, open-mouthed kisses over the heated flesh, along the shoulder blades, down his back. He spent some time on the lower back, mouthing and nipping at it, having Harry groan and whine. Jesse felt powerful in a way he never had before. He was in complete control...he did not know if he liked it. It was scary. He had always bottomed, always allowed Harry to call the shots. He remembered Harry's love of pain and his arousal dampened, if this was Harry's way of asking Jesse to hurt him, Jesse was certain he could not follow through. But, for the second time that night, thoughts were quickly driven out of Jesse's mind by lust and pleasure as Harry rocked his hips back into him, asking for more.

Jesse continued his oral map of his lover, down until he was eye level with Harry's pink hole. The sight was more arousing than Jesse thought it would be and it took a considerable amount of self control to not plunge into it dick-first. He took a steadying breath and ran a teasing thumb over the taut entrance. Harry gasped and his hips jerked. Jesse smirked slightly. He did it again and a noticeable shiver shook Harry's frame. Jesse took another breath and leaned in, swiping his tongue along the cleft of Harry's ass. This got a wonderful response out of the older man. The surprised moan and jerking hips spurred Jesse forward and he licked a hard stripe over the hole, wincing at the taste, but enjoying Harry's reaction all the same.

"Harry," Jesse murmured. "Cleaning spell." Harry just nodded and whispered something. Nothing happened but when Jesse licked another stripe over Harry's hole, there was little to no taste except for the taste of salty and sweaty skin and that, Jesse quite liked.

With the cleaning spell taken care off, Jesse wasted no time in plunging his tongue into the delicious heat. He lapped at the rim of the hole teasing and tasting. The taste was mostly salt and sweat but there was something musky and...Harry underneath that sent shivers of pleasure all throughout Jesse's strung out body. He swirled his tongue around the rim, smirking as Harry groaned impatiently.

"Fuck! Jesse," he snapped. "Just...d-do...something. God! Fuck me."

Jesse plunged his tongue into the heat, causing Harry to jump and moan. Jesse smirked and continued to lap at the hole, thrusting his tongue in as far as it would go and retracting it. He slurped and gulped and made deliciously dirty sounds that had him aroused and had Harry whispering wonderfully naughty things in a pleasure daze. Jesse nipped and licked and when Harry's arms collapsed from underneath him, Jesse added a finger to the spit-slicked mess of a hole. Harry jerked forward, surprised by the intrusion, but pushed back almost immediately.

Harry pressed his face into the pillow and moaned something loudly. Jesse missed it, but it sounded vaguely like, "Snev-muss." Jesse just smirked. He had driven Harry to complete incoherence. He added another finger, but the passage was too tight. He pulled out and leaned up, pressing his fingers to Harry's lips.

"Wet them for me, love?" He asked sweetly. Harry took the fingers eagerly into his mouth. He sucked on them long and slow and Jesse had to squeeze the base of his cock tightly to keep from coming on the spot. Once Jesse was satisfied, he pulled his fingers away from Harry's mouth and brought them back down to his entrance. He pushed one finger in, and followed it with a second finger immediately. The passage gave and swallowed Jesse's fingers with ease.

He worked his digits in and out of the scorching hole, scissoring the pert entrance in an effort to widen it. When he managed to fit three, he crooked his fingers and Harry's entire body spasmed as he let out a choked cry of there. Jesse sped up his actions, attempting to ram that spot in Harry with every thrust of his fingers. Harry moaned louder and louder and he pushed himself back up on shaky arms so that he could thrust back into Jesse's working hand.

"More! Fuck, Jes, _more_!" Jesse did not need to be told twice.

He pulled his fingers out and replaced them with the head of his cock. He attempted to go slowly, but Harry had other ideas. He pushed his hips back, trying to take all of Jesse and Jesse had to grip his hips so hard, he was sure he made bruises. He pushed past each tight ring of muscle and the heat and the pleasure was almost too much. He had to stop several times just to keep himself from coming right there and then. He pushed out a breath and continued to slide in every aching inch of his erect penis. Harry was cursing and muttering and moaning but Jesse had long tuned him out, intent on not hurting him while he did this. _Never enable an addict_, he thought pessimistically as he drove the last few inches of his weeping cock into the tight heat. Then, thoughts were driven from his mind as the most wonderful feeling of being engulfed overtook him.

Harry was a furnace; the heat seemed to light Jesse on fire, starting form the magical point where he and Harry became one and raging outward to the entirety of his being. Harry clenched around him and Jesse gasped, his hips stuttering forward to gain more of that sweet friction. He took another breath, steadying himself, and ran a hand down Harry's muscled back. Harry clenched around him again. Jesse groaned

"Harry...don't do that," he panted, dropping his chin to his chest as he tried to regain control of himself.

"Then _move!_" Harry snapped. For being the guy buried balls deep in another man, Jesse took orders like a bottom.

He pulled out, so that only the head of his cock remained wrapped in the gorgeous heat and then sank back in. He and Harry groaned in unison. As Jesse repeated the action a few more times, it seemed to not be enough for Harry. He began to push his hips back insistently and every time Jesse would bottom out on a thrust, Harry would squeeze Jesse's cock with so much force that he was positive Harry was determined to suck out his insides through the tip of his dick.

"Harder," Harry gasped. But Jesse ignored the plea. He would not-he absolutely_ refused_ to hurt Harry. "_Harder!_" Harry growled. Again, Jesse ignored him, focusing on keeping a steady pace. "FUCK! Jes, please, _harder_." This plea was more difficult to ignore. The way Harry whined it out was almost enough to break Jesse's resolve. It was agonizing to keep the pace while every nerve receptor in Jesse's being screamed at him to just man up and pound into the burning heat as hard as he could. But he held out and denied Harry his request, yet again, adamant about not hurting his older lover. But he forgot who his older lover was. If Harry Potter really wanted something he went after it.

Abruptly, Harry crawled forward, removing himself from Jesse's dick. Before Jesse could ask questions or complain, Harry had him pinned to the bed on his back. Jesse yelped in surprise as Harry grabbed his erect cock and positioned it at his entrance. Green eyes met blue for a moment before Harry impaled himself on Jesse's cock. Any thoughts Jesse could have had vanished as Harry began to slam down onto his cock repeatedly.

Harry threw his head back and groaned, the pleasure intensifying. But it was not _enough_. Every other thrust nailed his prostate but Harry's pleasure was incomplete; he needed _more_...he needed _pain._ He looked down at Jesse whom was lost in the throws of his pleasure. Harry slowed his hips, hoping for..._yes_, Jesse was far gone and when Harry slowed, he took hold of Harry's hips and began to drive up into him, his nails digging into the tender flesh of Harry's hips. It was not much, but it would do. The pleasure became that much sweeter as the pain joined it and Harry screamed out, slamming down into Jesse's thrusts. It did not take long after that.

Harry only lasted a few more thrusts before he came, groaning loudly, his eyes rolling back into his head. Jesse followed him almost immediately, crying out and filling Harry with his seed. Harry pulled off and reached over to grab a towel, gently wiping down a barely-awake Jesse's stomach. When Jesse was clean, he noticed the nail marks on Harry's hips.

"Crap," he sighed. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Harry answered smiling, feeling a strange sort of warmth bubble up in him.

"Good," Jesse remarked before turning on his side and falling asleep.

"Yeah," Harry muttered happily. "Good."

* * *

The next morning Harry was in a good mood; better than he ever remembered being. It seemed that for the first time in forever, life was truly working out for him. He spent the day laughing with customers and whistling tunes, and just being in the absolute best of spirits.

That is, until, Remus Lupin walked through the door of the bakery. It would have been a delight to see the man had he not walked behind the counter, past Harry, and into the back room without so much as a "hello." Harry figured there was some sort of emergency with Hermione and worried only slightly before returning to his work.

"What's Remus doing here?" Jesse asked, wrapping his arms around Harry from behind. Harry leaned back into the embrace.

"I have no idea," he admitted. But then they heard a loud clatter from the back before hearing the frenzied whispers of an approaching Hermione and Remus.

I

"What do you mean, 'on their way here?!'" Hermione could be heard, sounding frantic. There was a low reply and Hermione came sprinting into the front room, red-faced and teary eyed. Harry picked up an empty cake plate and moved to hand it to her, but was stopped by her appearance.

"Hermione!" he gasped. "What is it? What's going on?"

"Harry..." she trailed off, tears running down her cheeks.

"What is it?" Harry asked frantically. "Remus! Did you hurt her? Because I swear, if you did-"

"No!" Hermione yelped. "It has nothing to do with us! It's Snape."

Harry blanched.

"What about him?" Harry asked, all too aware that Jesse was standing right there.

"He and Malfoy, Harry...oh Harry..."

"Malfoy? As in Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes...Harry, he and Snape...they're-they..."

"They're what? What's going on Hermione?"

"Harry...they're engaged."

The cake plate crashed to the floor.

**Chapter Title Song: Be Calm by Fun. /watch?v=7qMXBUjm8tM**

**A/N: Are you tired of cliffhangers yet? If you keep reading, I promise they'll end. :) REVIEWSSSSSS! I'm an attention whore; I am desperate for your praises (and/or ****_CONSTRUCTIVE_**** criticism).**


	9. They've Got Guns, They've Got Knives

**A/N: Kind of a boring chapter, but it's all leading up to the good stuff. I promised the yesterday...I was a day off, sue me. But still: REVIEW or I will not update and then you will never get to the good stuff. It's coming, I promise. Review, review, review because I am attention whore. :)**

They've Got Guns, They've Got Knives

Harry did not sleep that night. Not that that was unusual, but this brand of insomnia was different. It had him up until all hours of the morning, brooding and sobbing and feeling the tiny hole in his heart open up and swallow him. This kind of insomnia did not come with the few blissful hours of sleep in the early hours of the morning. This kind of insomnia could not be filled with household tasks or menial chores. This was _depression_-induced insomnia and it was the kind that ate away at him, poking holes in his heart and mind until he felt like his very essence was leaking out of his pores and that he was slowly falling apart. He wondered, idly, about work and what time it was, but he was far too caught up in decaying to care.

Presently, he was sitting on the throw rug in the living area, curled up like a turtle. His arms and legs were tucked underneath him and his forehead rested on the short furs of the rug. His eyes were shut tight, banking tears that were sure to fall if he opened them. His arms were wrapped tightly around his stomach, trying to hold together the few little pieces left of him. His thoughts were morbid and his eyes throbbed with unsatisfied tiredness. He did not know the time nor did he care, but Hermione would be waking soon and he needed to pull himself together before then.

But he just stayed there; curled up on the carpet, pitiful and sad. He wondered how one could feel so much pain and not be physically injured. It was the most loathsome of pains, one that could not be treated or cured or bandaged. No, it could only be felt and the victim would have to find some way to deal with that. Harry was not dealing. It took an amazing amount of motivation to open his eyes and when he did, he had to hold his breath so that tears would not fall. He saw the red-orange streaks of sunlight hitting the carpet and a million tiny dust particles danced in front of him mockingly, reminding him of the day and how it had begun.

He had to get up.

With all the energy he could muster, he unwrapped his arms from around his stomach and was astonished to notice that he did not immediately crumble to pieces. Of course, he remembered that he was human and no matter how he fell apart on the inside, the outside was still flesh and bone and blood. He pushed himself up into a kneeling position and stayed there for several seconds before he was able to get on his feet. Once there, the world looked much different. The quiet darkness gave way to golden rays of light streaming in through the curtains, dancing merrily across the walls as the wind gusted up into the room. The peaceful silence was replaced by the sounds outside of birds chirping and people chatting and laughing.

Harry stood there, feeling out of place; as if the world was spinning beneath him, but he was stuck in time with his thoughts, with Snape...with Malfoy. He closed his eyes again but then Hermione slumped into the room and that was Harry's cue to act as if everything was alright.

"You didn't come to bed last night," she remarked as she walked into the kitchen.

"Yeah," he murmured apologetically, "I fell asleep on the couch out here."

Hermione shot him a look. She did not believe him. Why would she? Harry was not exactly well known for telling the truth about his feelings.

"Well," Hermione went on, "you better get ready for work. It's going to be a busy day today, a bunch of tourists got in yesterday. They'll be crowding the plaza...you are coming to work, right?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"I just thought...well, with everything that happened yesterday-"

"Don't worry about that Hermione," Harry said airily. "I'm fine, I promise. If Malfoy comes back today, I'll handle it."

"I know you will Harry, but I'm more afraid of your method of 'handling' it. Harry, he's with Sna-"

"Hermione, so what?" Harry scoffed. "He's allowed to be. I haven't talked to either of them in years. Plus, what I have here is good. I've got a job, I've got my best friend, and Malfoy and Snape will be here for what? A week, maybe two. Then they'll go back to wherever it is they live now and we won't have to deal with them ever again."

"You're dealing with all of this extremely well," Hermione observed suspiciously.

"I've come to terms with it, 'Mione," Harry lied, "I'll be fine. I promise."

"Alright," Hermione finally sighed after a lengthy pause, "I believe you. Now go get ready for work, you look like death warmed up."

Harry did as he was told and walked toward their bedroom. Getting ready with a leaden weight in his chest was easier said than done. Every piece of fresh clothing he adorned felt like a death sentence. He tried to stall as much as possible, taking an unusually long amount of time to find a shirt and pants. He knew that as soon as he was ready, the day would start and going down to the bakery brought about that inevitable consequence of coming face to face with Snape and his..._.fiancee._

After taking an unreasonable amount of time to brush his teeth, he walked back to the bedroom where he searched high and low for his shoes. It was some kind of miracle that they were actually missing. Had this been any other morning, he would have been seething with frustration, but today he was filled with a morbid sense of relief as he looked under the bed for the fourth time and failed to see them.

"Looking for these?" Harry's stomach dropped as he turned around to see Hermione holding his shoes in her hand.

"Erm...yeah," he muttered, reaching for them. He slipped them on slowly, lacing them with unnecessary care. But, too soon, the deed was done and Hermione was looking at him expectantly.

"Alright," he said gruffly, "Let's go."

It was with great trepidation that Harry descended the stairs to the bakery. Hermione held his hand on the way down, perhaps sensing his frenzied emotions. Down in the shop, it was much less terrifying than he had been preparing for. It was just his shop, his little corner of the world. This was his place, _his_. No one was going to ruin this for him. His mood lightened very slightly.

Hermione opened the doors and the early morning customers filed in. Harry held his breath as if expecting Malfoy and Snape to strut in, first thing in the morning, to ruin Harry's day. But of all the morning faces, theirs were not included. Harry let himself relax. He knew he was not in the clear, there was time left in the day for them to show up, but he would not worry without due cause.

It lasted for most of the afternoon, the blissful Snape-free environment. Harry drifted from task to task and as the sun sank lower in the sky, he let himself relax more and more. He hoped, foolishly, that maybe the universe had decided to give him a day off. But life does not meet anyone halfway and in the earlier hours of the afternoon, a familiar pointy face poked its head through the bakery door.

Draco Malfoy had not changed much in the last five and a half years. He had the same sharp and prominent features and the same silvery blonde hair. The grey eyes were cold and mocking just as they had been in Madame Malkin's robe shop all those years ago. In many ways, Harry felt like it was their first meeting all over again. Malfoy was still a richly dressed man with more money than he knew what to do with and Harry was still a poor boy at heart who was simply grateful to be alive. But they had changed. Harry, in many obvious ways, he owned a bakery for Merlin's sake. Malfoy, Harry did not doubt, had changed as well. Though for better or for worse, was still up for debate.

"So it's true," the familiar drawl intoned,"Harry Potter owns a bakery. How...unlike you, Potter." It was not the insult that Harry had been expecting. He was momentarily caught off guard and had to regroup before formulating an appropriate response.

"You've never known me very well, Malfoy," Harry retorted, though not unkindly.

"I suppose that's true," Malfoy conceded."Still, a baker, Potter? What, are glory and fame beneath the golden hero?"

"If you want to insult me," Harry snapped, "go ahead. But do so on your own time. This is my shop and if you want to cause trouble you can go right back out that door you came in."

"Your temper, I see, has gone quite unchanged." Malfoy eyed the window displays critically as he strolled closer to the counter.

"I could say the same about your arrogance," Harry bit back. Malfoy's eyes flashed but he did not react.

"Untwist those Gryffindor knickers of yours, Potter. I've come to make peace."

"Oh yes, your thinly veiled insults are making that very apparent."

"We can't all handle the world like Gryffindors. What do you want me to do, brown nose you? For Merlin's sake, Potter, I'm not a Hufflepuff."

"Still clinging to schoolyard stigmas, Malfoy? Why does that not surprise me?"

"We all do it, it's the wizarding world's dirty little secret. We never _really_ get past what house we were sorted into."

"Speak for yourself."

"Oh really, Potter? So you threatening to kick me out of your shop has nothing to do with the fact that I'm in Slytherin?"

"No, Malfoy, I dislike you on your own merits."

"Well aren't you just a grade-A hypocrite? You say I've never known you that well, what makes you think that you know me any better?"

Harry was stumped for a moment. Malfoy smirked smugly, crossing his arms over his chest in a very "I'm-right-and-you're-wrong-and-we-both-know-it" sort of way. Harry glared, but found it hard to fault Malfoy's argument. Harry knew less of Malfoy than Malfoy did of him. Sure, the media had a, somewhat, large hand in _that_ turn of events. But it was true. If he was going to ask Malfoy not to judge him, the least he could do was return the favor. He supposed that if they were not natural opposites, it would have been an easier thing to do. The most he could manage was to divert the conversation.

"Why do you want to make 'peace' with me anyway, Malfoy?" Harry asked, if not, a bit rudely.

"Honestly?" Draco inquired, "It was Severus' idea. He seems to have a certain...fondness for you and he wanted you and I to get along. After all, you will be making our wedding cake."

All of the unpleasant things that Harry had been keeping back that day rushed forward, and he had to clamp down hard on his emotions so that he did not reach over and throttle Malfoy right there in the shop. He scrutinized Malfoy's face, looking for any hints of lying or deception. He could find none. But, then again, the Slytherin was as good of an Occlumens as Harry himself; probably better, if he was in a relationship with Snape. Yet, he could think of no other motivations the silver-eyed blonde might have for showing up in the shop. Though it went against everything Harry had ever thought, he let himself ponder the idea of Malfoy being genuine. Perhaps he really was only here to please Snape and perhaps, in the last five years, Malfoy had become the kind of man that did things simply to please their fiancees (though, none of Malfoy's previous behaviour gave any indications of him being that type.)

"You expect me to believe that Snape sent you?" Harry found himself asking, mostly because if that were the truth, then Snape was much more of a vindictive bastard than Harry could have imagined.

"Not exactly. He implied that I should try getting along with you, but he didn't specifically ask me to come down here. Guess I'm just the 'extra mile' kind of guy." Harry snorted. "So what do you say, Potter?"

"What? You thought that if you just came down here and asked for it, I'd be your best friend?"

"No, you would never make my life that easy, Potter. I was thinking lunch, on me. Why don't we try and get to know each other?"

"Harry," Hermione piped up, coming up from the back. She glared at Malfoy icily before turning her attention toward her best friend. "Did I hear something about lunch?"

"Yes," Malfoy answered, "you did, Granger. I was just asking Potter, here, to spare me an hour or two of his precious time to come have lunch with me."

"I don't believe I asked you, Malfoy," Hermione snapped. Malfoy sneered, but held his tongue. The two had a brief glaring contest before Hermione dragged Harry into the back room so they could talk without the pompous blonde listening in.

"This is a bad idea, Harry, a very very bad idea," Hermione stressed at her friend.

"Hermione," Harry pleaded, "I have to go."

"No you don't!" Hermione argued.

"Yes," He sighed, "I do."

"Why?"

"Because Malfoy is engaged to...S-Snape and if I don't find out why-how, then I'm going to drive myself mad, Hermione. This has all been...just completely shit, all of it. My life's never been fair, but this? This is just cruel and I'm losing my mind, 'Mione, and I'm trying to hold it together. But maybe if I know why or how...maybe if I can make some sense of what's going on...I can-I can put it behind me or learn to cope with it until they leave. I just...need to do this."

"Harry," Hermione said softly, "this will do more harm than good. It will only make things worse."

"It can't get any worse, this is rock-bottom, there is no 'worse'. I can't sink any lower, so I might as well try and dig myself out-"

"And you think this is the way to do it?!" Hermione raised her voice. "Harry, this is...this-damn it Harry! Why do you insist on putting yourself in harm's way? You make it so difficult for me to keep you safe."

"I can take care of myself, Hermione. This is something I need to do. Please try and understand that."

There was a long staring contest after that. Neither of them was willing to back down but, when it came to Harry Potter, there was only one outcome to every battle.

"Fine," Hermione huffed. "Just...don't let him get in your head, alright? Don't let him put ideas in that overly thick skull of yours-"

"Hey!" Harry said indignantly, but he was smiling slightly. "Thanks 'Mione. I promise...nothing will go wrong."

"I hope you're right."

"I am."

Together, they walked back to the front of the shop where Malfoy was leaning against the counter, examining the cake plate of cupcakes rather closely. He looked up when Hermione and Harry came from the back. He smirked in that condescending way at Hermione, but his face became more genuine as he eyes shifted to Harry. Harry sighed, maybe this was a mistake but, if nothing else, his Gryffindor pride would not let him say no.

"Fine," Harry remarked to the blonde, "we'll do lunch. Tomorrow, then? At noon?"

"Actually," Malfoy said, raising a blonde eyebrow, "I was thinking today...now, if you've not already taken lunch, that is."

Harry met Malfoy's eyes. This was not a question or an offer. This was a challenge. Harry could read it in those silver eyes. For a sickening second, Harry thought Malfoy knew. He knew about Snape and the war and that was why he was here; to rub Harry's face in it all. But that was impossible, Malfoy was just being an arse. Harry did not care how much of a bastard Snape was, he would never betray Harry's trust like that. He hoped.

"I can do now," Harry answered lightly. Hermione shot him a look, but said nothing. Harry removed his apron and washed up, pecking Hermione on the cheek as he left. Worry twisted in her gut.

**A/N: Chapter Title Song from Schizophrenia by Jukebox The Ghost /watch?v=xdUvaIV0t7E**

**This chapter was boring, I know, but come on...just bear with me. And review because you love me and you want to get to the Snarry action.**


	10. If You've Had Enough, Say When

If You've Had Enough, Say When

The bistro they sat in was crowded with the lunch rush, but Malfoy seemed to have a reserved table because they were seated almost the moment they arrived. The music that played softly over the customers was folk Italian and it grated on the speakers, the sound crackling and hiccuping as the melody broke through at irregular intervals. The seats were soft leather, golden studs holding the seams together, and gorgeous cherry wood acting as a frame. The tables seemed to be made of the same cherry wood and they were smooth to the touch, freshly sanded and varnished, gleaming in the afternoon light with a reddish hue. The paintings on the wall were modern, abstract pieces, little to do with reality. The smell, however, was the crowning jewel. A restaurant could always be gauged by its scent.

Bread. Harry recognized the scent well. It was the smell of freshly baked bread. The warm, heady scent hung in the air, wheat and yeast and something infinitely sweeter than all that. Just below was the bitter scent of coffee, strong and precise, awakening the senses with its aroma alone. Then meat, cooked and seasoned with rosemary and something strong (paprika, perhaps) rich and succulent, laden with a delicious promise. Lastly, from what Harry could smell, was vanilla; sweet and domineering, tantalizing, so heavy of a scent that it could almost be tasted on the air; thick like honey, and insistent with its sugariness. Harry took all these in as they sat and lost himself in it, momentarily ignoring Malfoy and the world around him.

"So, Potter," Malfoy's drawl broke through Harry's daze and he snapped back to reality unpleasantly, like a splash of cold water on sleep-warm flesh. "Is this up to your standards?"

"I'll need to try the food first," Harry answered, coming to himself more and more until all the smells he had so carefully separated, melted together into one insignificant mass under Harry's nose. The restaurant lost its cynosure and Harry refocused his frayed senses on Malfoy, hoping that the blonde did not expect him to be a conversationalist for this particular lunch.

Apparently not; they sat in an awkward silence, patiently waiting for their orders to be taken. Harry already felt exhausted and they could not have been sitting there for more than ten minutes. Any words that Harry could think to exchange lead to dangerous territory. If he mentioned school, that was a past that neither man wanted to relive (least of all, together.) If he mentioned work, Malfoy would surely bring up Ron (who was, so ironically, his Auror counterpart) and Harry certainly did not want to talk about _that_. God forbid he bring up Snape; when it came to that, Harry had absolutely nothing to say to the other man. That went beyond dangerous territory, that was the minefield and it would be suicide to try and walk through it. So he simmered in his silence and let Malfoy start the conversation instead.

"The wedding is in September," Malfoy finally said, and leave it to him to drop Harry right in the center of the minefield. "I know that it may seem like we did this on purpose but we had no idea you owned the shop, Potter. But, of course, 'the best bakery in Wizarding London' would be owned by you, wouldn't it?"

"Hey-" Harry began to protest, but was cut off almost immediately.

"Shut it, Potter," Malfoy snapped quickly. "I didn't come here to argue. It wasn't only _your_ bad luck that screwed us on this one. What I need to know is if you'll agree to make the cake or not. Just say yes or no. If you say yes, great, we'll be getting somewhere. If you say no, we can finish lunch and Severus and I won't bother you again."

The offer sounded sincere but Harry saw it for what it was, what it had always been, a challenge. If he said yes, he was willingly condemning himself to spending prolonged amounts of time with Malfoy and Snape. If he said no, he was admitting that he was too weak to face his past. Malfoy, ever the Slytherin, had trapped him. Perhaps it was because Harry was too proud for his own good or maybe it was because he was living out some long-forgotten fantasy of his; whatever the reason, Harry finally said, "Fine, I'll make your cake, Malfoy." It was a statement, but the uncertainty of Harry's voice was missed by neither man.

"Splendid," Malfoy said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.

Before the silence could descend once again, a waiter appeared. Mercifully, their orders were brought out to them speedily and they had little chance to exchange words again during the lunch. It ended quickly once the food was in front them. Both of them eagerly devoured their dishes and kept their eyes pointedly averted from the other's gaze. Malfoy payed, but not without a little protest on Harry's part. It was out of courtesy that Harry argued the check, though. Truthfully, he just wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.

Back at the shop, Harry felt as if a giant weight was lifted from his chest and he definitely breathed a little easier. He ignored his customers as he walked back in the kitchen. He had left Malfoy at the apparition point in his hurry to return home. Now there, he took a moment to understand the weight of what had just occurred. Harry had _willingly_ agreed to make a cake for the to-be Snapes. The pluralization of that name shook something in Harry that he steadfastly ignored in favor of cleaning the ovens in the kitchen.

He scraped down every surface in his effort to distract himself from considering all of the repercussions of his decision. He wiped down the countertops and scraped the grease from the frier. He scrubbed the floors until his fingers were numb and the only thought in his mind was, _'what the hell is that yellow spot?'_ He cleaned until his knuckles were bloody and if he was scrubbing some tears into the soapy water on the floor, no one was around to call him out on it. He disinfected until his arms shook with tiredness and his legs ached with exhaustion. And when it was over, when every surface was gleamingly spotless, he felt no better than when he entered the shop hours previous.

"Harry?" The familiar voice rang out from the stairs that lead up to his flat. Jesse, Harry's brain supplied.

"In here!" Harry rubbed his hand over his throat. His voice was raw from disuse.

"There you are," Jesse sighed heavily as he entered the kitchen. "I haven't seen you all day!"

The younger man's face distorted in Harry's eyes. Harry felt as if years had passed since he last spoke to his younger lover instead of a few short hours. It felt as if so much had changed. Realistically, Harry knew that nothing had. Things were the same as always. But he was on shaky legs, unsure of where he was or where he was going. Yesterday felt like a pleasant dream and Harry was drifting away from it. He felt himself slipping through the cracks, away from Jesse and all his comforts as his past caught up with him and he was thrust into a battle of wills that he never intended on fighting.

"Yeah, it's been a long one," Harry muttered. He felt far away as Jesse regaled him with an amusing story of some customers that dropped by earlier that day.

His head felt fuzzy as a familiar pair of lips found his and he let himself be hugged and kissed. He let Jesse smile and whisper sweet things in his ear and he let himself smile and respond. But he was so very far away. He wondered if Snape was with Malfoy at that moment. Maybe they were discussing lunch or maybe they were conspiring against Harry. He wondered, after days of forcing himself not to, about the proposal. Did Snape get down on one knee? Did Malfoy cry? Did they sit with each other all night and whisper to each other about the future like-like Harry and Severus used to do? Did they make love? If so, did Snape top? Did he hold Malfoy like he used to-maybe it was best to stop wondering.

They closed the shop after the last of the lunch customers left. Jesse made an attempt to drag Harry up to the loft to laze around for the rest of the day but Harry politely refused. He excused himself, leaving the shop to get some fresh air, telling Jesse he was going to take a walk and that he needed to be alone.

He walked all the way to the other side of town, never slowing down and never lifting his eyes from the ground. He walked fast, mind blank and heart numb. Before he knew it, he was in the graveyard, just outside the old church. He rarely ever came to his part of town. It was called Old Town and it lay just outside the plaza. He looked at the old houses, eyes finally landing on the remains of his family home. He rarely ever strayed this far outside of his comfort zone. Memories of his seventh year plowed into him. He held his breath, nostalgia bringing a deep ache to his heart.

He sought out his parent's headstones. The marble slabs looked the same as the last time he saw them. He had not come back once since he and Hermione had visited five years previous. But he noticed a fresh wreath of flowers leaning against them, much like the one Hermione had conjured all those years ago. A swell of affection burst in his chest for his best friend. Simultaneously, a stab of guilt hit him as he realized Hermione had been visiting the headstones for...however long, now. He gave a silent apology to his parent's graves and was suddenly regretful that he had not kept the resurrection stone. He thought of it as he read the engravings on the headstones. If only to see them one more time, he thought solemnly. Maybe, then, he would not feel so lost.

He turned away from the graves toward the memorial. The obelisk gave way to the true form underneath. There, in carved marble, sat his parents and himself as a baby. He ached more deeply. He walked to the statue, sitting at the bench across from it. He took his time to visually outline the features of his stone parents. His heart felt heavy and a sizable lump formed in his throat.

"It does not do to dwell on the past, Harry." Harry jumped and he gasped, turning around. It could not be...he turned to face the familiar voice to see Marcus standing there, leaning on a cane, smiling benevolently. Harry's heart slowed and he took a deep breath.

"Marcus," Harry greeted. "You startled me. I thought...I thought you were someone else."

"Yes," the old man replied, taking a seat next to Harry on the bench. "Well, us old folk are all pretty much the same."

Harry huffed out a laugh at that. They sat in a companionable silence for a moment.

"Thinking about the war, m'boy?" The old man finally asked.

It took a long time for Harry to answer, but he finally said, "Yes." He took a breath before he opened his mouth again, sharing his soul with the familiar man. "Sometimes...I miss it. You know? Not the deaths or the violence or anything. But the feeling of...doing something that was worth it; the feeling of doing something important. Most days, it's a relief not to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. But sometimes I miss it...sometimes that weight wasn't always a bad thing, you know? And now...the life I live, it's so simple and plain and everything I've ever wanted but...Just some days, I can't believe it's actually over. I can't believe that this is my life now."

"Mmm, the past is a funny thing," Marcus responded after a beat of quiet. "Sometimes we don't realize what it is that we have until it is gone. I feel, Harry, that you are not alone. We all miss it, in our way. As you said, it was not always a bad thing. Sometimes, in great times of despair and loss we find the most beautiful sense of clarity. Sometimes in the midst of war, we find purity. The world has a way of righting itself in the darkness. I think you'll find, as you age, the most blessed moments are the ones that left you completely shattered."

A long silence followed his words. Harry contemplated Marcus and his wisdom.

"Have you ever been in love, Marcus?" Harry finally asked.

"Once. In my youth, I was a fool's fool. I was utterly besotted with a young woman a few years older than me and spent many days trying to woo her. But she was a stubborn one. She ignored me at every turn and shot down all my advances. She left me heartbroken so that I felt I would never be whole again."

"So what did you do?"

"What else? I married her. She was the love of my life from the day I met her to the day she died and still, to this day, I find that I love her more and more with each passing hour."

"Oh," Harry uttered sadly. "I'm sorry. When did she pass?"

"Fifteen years ago next April."

There was another long silence between them.

"How many girls did you date before you met the one?"

"It doesn't matter how many I dated before, I never dated anyone after."

Another silence.

"Does it work out? You know, in the end, does it all fall into place? When you really love someone?"

"Harry, when you truly love someone, it will always work out."

"Really? How can that be? What if the one you love doesn't love you back?"

"When you come to understand what love is, you'll know the answer to that question."

Harry looked out onto the graveyard. The sun was setting on the horizon and Harry knew he should get back before Hermione or Jesse began to worry. He looked to the old man beside him. He was staring out in front him, eyes glazed over with something indecipherable. Harry smiled very slightly.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Marcus, early morning."

"Wouldn't miss it," the old man said kindly. Harry stood from his place on the bench. Without looking back, he walked back to the plaza.

Without looking back, he walked home


End file.
